LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 



A MEMORIAL VOLUME 



ADDRESSES FOR THE HOME 



BY THE y^ 

Rev. CHARLES L. GOODELL 



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BOSTON 1891 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

10 Milk Street 






Copyright, 1891, by Charles L. Goodell 



All Bights Reserved 



My Mother's Bible 



Typography and Electbotypinq by 
C. J. Peteks & Son, Boston 



TO 

THE MEMORY OF 

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AND TO 

Efje Cfjurcfjes 

FOR WHICH SHE DAILY PRAYED 

31 JBeotcate tjtss Book 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

Introduction 7 

My Mother 13 

My Mother's Bible 23 

A Refuge for the Family 40 

The Mother's Wages 51 

Life's Voyage 59 

I. Setting Sail 59 

II. Passengers and Chew 69 

III. Pilots and Charts 77 

IV. Winds and Tides 85 

V. Wrecks and Wreckers 93 

VI. What Port 103 

True Womanhood 113 

True Manhood 125 

What We read "... 137 

How Stanley found God in Darkest Africa . 147 

Whispers from Whitefield's Tomb 160 

Our Patriots 175 

Toward Evening 197 

Crowned Heads 208 

Gates of Pearl 218 

5 



INTRODUCTION 



This book is the fulfilment of a promise 
made to myself and to God, as I watched by the 
death-bed of my mother. It was my purpose 
then to print for private distribution, some brief 
account of my mother's life and character; first, 
as the tribute of a grateful son to the memory 
of a sainted mother, and second with the hope 
that the testimony thus given to her cheerful, 
godly, and unselfish life might be not only a 
comfort to those who knew her, but a help to 
others who in trials and comparative obscurity 
are seeking to lead brave and holy lives. 

When my plan became known among my 
parishioners, past and present, they requested 
me to change my purpose sufficiently to present 
a book for general circulation by adding, to the 
memorial of my mother, such addresses and 
sermons as might harmonize with some general 

7 



8 INTRODUCTION 

plan. I have assented to this request, because 
I could thus secure a larger hearing for my sim- 
ple tribute, and with the hope of influencing* 
through the printed page some who are yet in 
the formative period of their lives, but whom I 
can no longer reach from the pulpit. 

In my dedication I have coupled my moth- 
er's name with my churches. I do this be- 
cause she had visited me in each of my par- 
ishes at Acushnet, Mass. ; Broadway, Chestnut 
Street, and Trinity, Providence ; and Winthrop 
Street, Boston ; and was greatly interested in all 
the details of my work. Every day, morning 
and evening, she was accustomed, with my 
father, to spend a season in prayer, that God 
might specially bless the church for which I 
labored. To the influence of these earnest 
prayers I believe is largely due the measure of 
success in winning souls to Christ and upbuild- 
ing the church, which God has graciously per- 
mitted to attend the efforts of these twelve 
years of my ministry. 

The thought running through the book is, 
Christianity and the Home. The larger part of 
the addresses are to young people. The circum- 



INTRODUCTION 9 

stances of my pastorates, particularly that of 
Trinity Church, whose Sunday school num- 
bered more than twelve hundred members, have 
been such as to lay upon me particular obliga- 
tions in this direction. I have not, however, 
confined myself entirely to the young. There 
has always been a warm place in my heart for 
old people, and I trust some things I have writ- 
ten here will be a comfort to them in their pecu- 
liar trials. I have sought to present something 
which may be helpful from the cradle to the 
grave. The two biographical addresses and the 
Memorial Address are in line with the others. 
"Whispers from White field's Tomb " should in- 
spire our young men with a like devotion and a 
willingness, if called, to enter the Christian min- 
istry. The vindication of prayer by a cool- 
headed man of affairs like Stanley ought to help 
the faith of all. I hope the Memorial Address 
may stimulate that patriotism which should be 
a characteristic of every true Christian. 

I have selected those addresses and sermons 
which are in line with my plan, and many of 
which have been honored in the salvation of 
souls. No attempt has been made to gain a 



10 INTRODUCTION 

reputation for scholarship or eloquence: these 
are simple talks out of my heart to men whose 
souls I love. I speak to the home because I am 
satisfied that the great need of the times is home 
religion. It is time to set up the family altar. 
I urge it as one who has seen its power. 

I acknowledge, in a general way, my obliga- 
tion to many writers for the young, from whose 
books I have received helpful suggestions. 
Among these are Smiles, Matthews, Talmage, 
Geikie, Mann, Munger, Gladden, and others. 

This book is sent forth as a tribute to my 
mother; and to the end that it may help some 
souls in the voyage of life, I ask upon it 
the blessing of my Mother's God. 



First among the influences which have formed my life, 
I must mention the character of a mother. . . . 

As I think of her life and all it had to bear, I see the 
absolute triumph of Christian grace in the lovely ideal of a 
Christian lady. I never saw her temper disturbed ; I never 
heard her speak one word of anger, or of calumny, or of 
idle gossip. I never observed in her any sign of a single 
sentiment misbecoming to a soul which had drunk of the 
water of life, and which had fed upon manna in the barren 
wilderness. The world is better for the passage of such 
souls across its surface ; they may seem to be as much for- 
gotten as the drops of rain which fall into the barren sea, 
but each raindrop adds to the volume of refreshing and 
purifying waters. 

The healing of the world 
Is in its nameless saints. A single star 
Seems nothing, but a thousand scattered stars 
Break up the night, and make it beautiful. 

Canon Farrar, in Formative Influences. 



MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 



MY MOTHER 

TNSTEAD of a formal and extended analysis 
-*- of my mother's character, I shall allow such 
incidents and characteristics as best reveal her 
real self to take their natural place in the follow- 
ing addresses, and thus to tell incidentally the 
manner of her life. I may, however, be per- 
mitted here to tell the simple story of that life, 
and, since most of these addresses were given 
prior to her death, to speak of the quiet victory 
of her closing hours. 

Clarinda ( Healy) Goodell was born in Dud- 
ley, Mass., July 20, 1812. She was of Puritan 
ancestry, and her ancestors had lived in the town 
of her birth from the time of its settlement. 
An accident in her childhood was nearly fatal, 
and she felt the painful effect of it all her life. 
Passing along a pathway where a lighted candle 
had been carelessly left, her clothing took fire, 
and before it could be extinguished she was ter- 

13 



u 



ribly burned. She lost the use of her limbs and 
the power of speech, and did not recover these 
for several years. A naturally strong constitu- 
tion enabled her to regain to a fair degree the 
use of her powers, although her health was never 
good. The death of her father when she was 
five years old left her mother with three chil- 
dren to care for, — Becca, afterward the wife of 
Waldo Williams, a woman of strong religious 
character and marked ability, who is now living 
in the eighty-seventh year of her age ; and 
Hezekiah who was accidentally shot when a 
youth. Her mother was a woman of affairs, and 
she so managed her business interests that a 
comfortable dower remained to each daughter. 
The strictest economy had been practised during 
these years, and had come to be a part of the 
life of the family. They were taught that it was 
not only unwise to be in the least degree waste- 
ful, but also that it was a religious duty to be 
economical. This feeling remained with mother 
all her life, although it was only exercised that 
her own might not want, and that she might 
have more to give to others. 

June 15, 1836, she married Warren Goodell, 
of Woodstock, Ct., and began housekeeping in 
the house where she was born, and which she 
never left for any length of time. Of this 
union five sons were born, four of whom are 



MY MOTHER 15 

still living. Her husband began the manufac- 
ture of shoes, and continued it with varying suc- 
cess until the failures of 1857 swept away what 
little he had accumulated. From this he at- 
tempted to rally ; but the war soon came on, and 
two of his sons left for the front. Soon after 
the business was given up. While mother was 
never able to work rapidly, she seemed to work 
incessantly. Her lamp was the last in the vil- 
tage to go out at night, and the first to be lighted 
in the morning. Her patience in the hard con- 
ditions of life was simply marvellous. Every 
detail of the home life was religiously attended 
to. Rarely could she be induced to go beyond 
her own door save to the church she loved. Her 
natural habit of mind was hopeful and cheery, 
and no one entered her presence without feeling 
at ease. A more guileless and unselfish spirit 
never walked the earth. I never knew her to 
speak an unkind word, much less an angry one. 
When some personal gossip was retailed in her 
presence, she would go quietly on with her work, 
and if appealed to for her opinion would inva- 
riably defend the accused, or, if that were im- 
possible, would say, " You know we must speak 
well of people as long as we can, and when we 
cannot it is better to be silent." Bishop Malla- 
lieu says of her, in an obituary in Zion's Herald, 
" In her was richly manifested the fruit of the 



16 my mother's bible 

Spirit. Love, joy, peace, longs uffering, gentle- 
ness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance, 
abounded in her daily life and conversation." 
Although keeping so closely to her home, she 
was interested in every reform and all matters of 
public weal. That she was a patriot at heart is 
evidenced by the answer she gave when some 
one asked how she felt when her three boys 
came to talk with her about enlisting in ' 61. 
" I felt very badly that it was necessary for them 
to go, but if they had not spoken to me about 
going I should have spoken to them." Remem- 
bering her love for her country, I have the more 
readily given place in this volume to a patriotic 
address. 

Next to her love for her home was her devo- 
tion to the church. Father was a Methodist, and 
mother before her marriage was a member of 
the Congregational Church. Even then her 
soul was greatly exercised and disturbed by the 
Calvinism of the day. She heard the Methodists 
preach free salvation, she read their books, and 
came shortly through the force of her convic- 
tions to become a Methodist, and that at a time 
when it cost something to do so. There was no 
Methodist church in town, but father and mother 
were anxious that one should be erected. They 
offered the lot next to their own dwelling, and 
the offer was accepted. Until the little church 



MY MOTHER 17 

was built, services were held in their house. It 
was a happy day for them when their efforts 
were crowned with success, and they could wor- 
ship in a Methodist church. For forty years 
father was its sexton, as well as class-leader and 
local preacher. There were men of gigantic 
faith in that church, and more men have gone 
from it into the ministry than from any other 
church with which we are acquainted. Through 
removals and death the congregation was broken 
up, and no regular services are now held there. 
The building may go to decay ; but Methodism 
may well thank God that it has had an exist- 
ence, for the men converted at its altars are 
giving to God of their substance enough to build 
many such churches every year. Some of us 
love the old church still, because it was our birth- 
place, and because every board and timber was 
consecrated by the prayers of godly men and 
women. 

Into this church my mother's heart was 
built. When it prospered, she rejoiced; when 
it languished, her eyes were a fountain of tears. 
In other places I shall speak of that devotion 
and Christian living at home which make my 
father and mother the highest ideal of the Chris- 
tian I have ever met. Because our house was 
literally under the droppings of the sanctuary, 
it became the rendezvous, between morning and 



18 MY mother's bible 

afternoon services, of all who came from a dis- 
tance. It was mother who prepared the cup of 
tea for the woman with a headache, who found 
the proper medicine for the suffering child, 
who provided a lunch for the hungry boy, who 
entertained the preachers who came on ex- 
change, who gave the presiding elder the best 
the house afforded, while father led his horse to 
oats in the barn. On Wednesday afternoon a 
woman's prayer-meeting was held in our house 
which mother led for many years ; and on Satur- 
day night the chairs were set around the kitchen 
against the wall, the lamps put on either side 
of the clock on the shelf, and we were ready 
for the class of which father was leader. I see 
them gather. Oh, that I could hear them as 
of old ! Aunt Sally, whose husband, Rev. 
Hezekiah Davis of precious memory, had swept 
through the gates like an Elijah years before ; 
Uncle Henry, who shouts as the chairs are 
filled and others brought in, " Glory to God ! 
see the troops gather ! " These are gone home, 
and only the children remain. With such 
scenes as these my sainted mother and devoted 
father are always associated in my mind. 

Mother greatly enjoyed the church papers 
and magazines. The ZiorCs Herald and the 
Guide to Holiness she especially prized. When 
her children received remembrances from her, 



MY MOTHER 19 

at Christmas or other times, a Guide would 
frequently be found in the package, and we 
knew mother felt that to be the most valuable 
of her gifts. I have in my possession nearly 
a score of note-books which mother filled with 
choice religious thoughts, some of them origi- 
nal, and others copied from her range of reading. 
Her hands trembled in the last years of her life, 
so that it was with difficulty she could write ; 
and yet here are scores of pages carefully 
written out, the blessed truth of the words 
making her forget the pain of the effort. Here 
are a few of the sentences to which I open. 

" Divine providences are dark, but the divine 
promises are light." " The gate is too strait to 
carry through one sin." " No craft, however 
small, was ever wrecked on the ocean of love." 
" Can I pray before beginning it, is a good test 
of doubtful actions." " We are apt to see God 
more in his judgments than in His mercies." 

I pass with regret over the many precious 
incidents from long years which crowd my 
mind. These, which are so full of comfort to 
me, I cannot touch, save as I do it incidentally 
in pages which are to follow. 



The chamber where the good man meets his fate 

Is privileged above the common walks 

Of virtuous life, quite on the verge of heaven." 



20 my mother's bible 

Mother grew weaker rapidly during the sum- 
mer months of 1890, and we all beheld it with 
alarm. We came to see, during the late autumn 
da}^s, that the time had come for the reapers 
who are the angels. One after another, her 
sons came, on notice of her weakness, and for 
many days watched together around her bed 
day and night. " The Lord bless them, every 
one of them ; they make my last days happy," 
said the dying mother. Her aged sister also 
sat often with them. For such an hour mother 
had been preparing for sixty years. Death had 
laid aside every terror, and it was more like the 
hush preceding a coronation than like an hour 
of mourning. She longed to be with Jesus, 
and said again and again, " Why does the 
chariot wait so long ? " Her religious life had 
not been marked by exuberance of joy, but rather 
by great peace. Her last hours were in har- 
mony with this. When father asked, " Do you 
feel happy ? " she replied with emphasis, " I 
feel my soul stayed on God." She had often 
spoken in life about dying grace, and had been 
fearful that she might not receive it. "I said 
long ago I was afraid God wouldn't give me 
patience. But He gives me far beyond what I 
expected." 

" Sing to me," she said ; and we sang, " Jesus, 
Lover of my soul," and then another hymn, 



MY MOTHER 21 

composed by her life-long friend, Dr. Jefferson 
Hascall, — 

" My latest sun is sinking fast, 
My race is nearly run ; 
My strongest trials now are past, 
My triumphs are begun." 

"How can we live without you, mother?" 
cried one of her sons, through his sobs. 

"You'll have a mother in heaven," was her 
truthful and comforting answer. 

But the end was drawing near, and it came 
as gently as the sun goes down. He who 
led her to the marriage altar fifty-four years 
before held her wrinkled hand. Her sons stood 
around her bed. The last prayer had been said, 
and ended with her triumphant " Amen ! " 
Slower and slower, fainter and fainter, ran the 
life-current, until at last the weary wheels of 
life stood still. And there, just below the 
room where she was born and next to the room 
where she was married, her pilgrimage on earth 
ended. At rest, the peace of God in all her 
looks ! It seemed as if, when the gates opened 
for her departing spirit, something of the glory 
fell upon the face of clay ; for when we arose 
from prayer her husband said, "She never 
looked more beautiful." 

On the day appointed, her sons bore her away, 



22 my mother's bible 

and, within sight of the home and the church 
so loved of her soul, on a matchless Indian- 
summer day, they laid her to rest. 

Thus have I kept my promise, and fulfilled 
the words which I would write over her grave, 

" Her children arise up and call her blessed." 



MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 

T HESITATE to speak publicly upon so per- 
-*- sonal a theme. Contending emotions stir 
my heart, — thankfulness for the teaching and 
associations of a holy life, sorrow that all this can 
be henceforth but a memory. Two thoughts 
constrain me to hide my own emotions so far as I 
can, and give to you this chapter out of my life : 
first, that I may pay some humble tribute to 
the memory of my now sainted mother, and 
second, that I may show, to the glory of God, 
the wonderful power of this blessed Book to 
instruct and sustain. Influenced by these mo- 
tives, I hope I may voice for the good of some 
soul a message from this silent witness which I 
bring here to-night, — My Mother's Bible ! 

" What household thoughts, around thee as their shrine, 
Cling reverently! of anxious looks beguiled, 
My mother's eyes upon thy page divine 

Each day were bent: her accents gravely mild 
Breathed out thy lore; whilst I, a dreamy child, 

Wandered on breeze-like fancies oft away 
To some lone tuft of gleaming spring flowers wild, 
Some fresh-discovered nook for woodland play, 
23 



24 



Some secret nest; yet would the solemn Word, 
At times with kindlings of young wonder heard, 

Fall on my wakened spirit, there to be 
A seed not lost, for which in darker years 
O book of Heaven ! I pour with grateful tears 

Heart blessings on the holy dead and thee! " 

But here is the old family Bible. Not one 
with double clasp, gilt back, and full morocco 
binding, with colored marriage certificate, and 
two pages for photographs ; not the kind which 
is enveloped in its own dignity, and seems to 
say to any who would venture to open its stiff 
clasps, " I am only to be looked at. The Bible 
they read is in grandmother's room." A hun- 
dred years ago they read less about the Bible, 
and more out of the old Book itself. 

The imprint of this book proves it to have 
been born with the opening of the present cen- 
tury. After grandmother had begun house- 
keeping at the old Black Tavern, grandfather 
brought it from Philadelphia, on his way home 
from Washington, whither he had been to make 
application for a patent for the first water-loom 
in America. This was just at the beginning of 
of the War of 1812. The title-page reads: 
" Printed and published by Matthew Carey, 
No. 122 Market St., Phil. Embellished with 
three maps and twenty-seven Historical Engrav- 
ings." Four generations have admired those 



my mother's bible 25 

wonderful engravings ; and on some of them 
is left the imprint of the too-eager hands of 
youth. A generation has passed since we 
looked at them with mother's finger to point 
out each well-known picture, and her sweet lips 
to tell again the oft-repeated story. Here is 
Moses in the bulrushes ; Isaac on the altar, and 
Abraham with one hand on his son's head, while 
in the other he holds the sacrificial knife. An 
angel is just appearing in the corner, while on 
the other side a lamb is disclosed in the thicket. 
Looking on a little, David is seen with his harp 
of solemn sound, and, farther still, the minor 
prophets appear. In the New Testament the 
wise men kneel by the infant Jesus, and offer 
their spices, and gems. In the temple the won- 
derful child confutes the doctors. Here he sits 
— sweetest picture of all — with his hand on 
the head of a little child. Again, from the judg- 
ment-hall, buffeted and despised, the Christ goes 
forth to his crucifixion. 

Measured by certain laws which we have 
learned in wiser but less happy years, these 
plates are not a great success ; but we have 
never seen any line engravings in store or 
museum which have so profoundly moved us, 
or left upon our hearts such abiding impressions. 
Here is the old family record, some of its entries 
made nearly eighty years ago. The handwrit- 



26 



ing is as angular and exact as the lives of the 
men who wrote here the simple annals of birth, 
and marriage, and death. It is quite the fash- 
ion in certain quarters in our city to sneer at 
the rigid exactness of our Puritan ancestors. 
In answer we say, men judge of laws and sys- 
tems, as well as of trees, by their fruits. While 
our grandfathers' ways were ofttimes unlovely, 
they produced a civilization which has become 
the marvel of the world, and made New Eng- 
land the synonjmi of highest mental and moral 
achievements on two continents. 

The ancestors of both father and mother came 
to this State with Gov. Winthrop, two hundred 
and fifty years ago. The records of this old 
book go back to 1729. Here are the good old 
Bible names of Joseph, Lemuel, and Hezekiah, 
Rebecca and Mary; and in two short lines the 
brief history of each is told. 

But this old book is chiefly of value now for 
records of quite another kind, — records which 
tell of the soul's experiences rather than the 
simple passage of time. Fifty years ago my 
grandmother lay dying, and gave this book into 
my mother's hand. So, for a half century, it 
has lain on the stand in the living room, within 
easy reach. It watched the soft hands which 
turned its pages become hard with toil, and then 
began to tremble with the weight of years. It 



my mother's bible 27 

saw bright eyes grow dim, and glasses laid upon 
the open page. It watched the children come 
and go, smiling upon us in its silent way as it 
disclosed its pictures to our boyish gaze ; ad- 
monishing us in the temptations of youth, and 
speaking tenderly to us, like an old friend, as 
we went back to its pages after the lapse of 
years. Time ploughed its ridges in the grave- 
yard, — some for blossoms, and some for the 
tall and bearded grain, — still this book lay in 
its place, and whispered its messages of hope 
and immortality. I have often heard mother 
tell how her baby who died before I was born, 
when he saw her weeping, as she came back 
from the churclryard, threw back this very cover 
and cried out, as if he read the words, " The 
Lord he is God, the Lord he is God ! " The dust 
could not gather on its covers, for the duties of 
no day were begun until the family had turned 
to it for comfort, for wisdom, and for help. It 
saw the children go, one after another, until 
father and mother were alone. There they sat 
side by side, as they did fifty years before. 
Their chairs are close together; the old man 
holds the aged hand as lovingly as he held the 
hand of his bride, while in tender tones, this 
old book open upon her lap, she reads the words 
of life. A few years ago they decided to read 
the book in regular succession, and mark each 



28 my mother's bible 

chapter as they read ; and here you may see over 
every chapter five marks, and six as far as the 
Book of Samuel. So in the afterglow of life 
they sat and read through five times this book, 
which David said shall be " a lamp unto my 
feet." Is it any wonder that they could say, 
"At eventide it is light " ? 

Is it strange that they were familiar with 
the Bible, or that we who loved them prize be- 
yond gold the pages turned so often by tender, 
trembling hands ? 

It was mother's custom to write opposite 
a passage the name of the preacher who had 
used it for his text in the little church at home. 
These make up an interesting record. Some of 
the preachers are now pastors of great churches, 
secretaries, and bishops, and many of them have 
passed to the church triumphant above. 

But I prize the old book most for the heart 
history which is written here. As I open it, I read 
on the title-page, in the handwriting of my 
mother, " O Book of Life, how blest thou art ! " 
There are many tear-marks upon these yellow 
pages, for they were often read when crape was 
on the door, or some precious life hung trem- 
bling in the balance. In 1861 my brothers bade 
their mother good-by, and marched to the field 
of battle. After one of those fearful battles in 
the Wilderness, the youngest was reported 



29 



wounded. In a little time a telegram came from 
Washington, " If you wish to see your son 
alive, come at once." Father took the next train 
for the capital ; and mother, feeble and almost 
broken-hearted, betook herself to prayer. It 
was in that day of awful anxiety that this old 
book, wet with tears, lay open in her lap, and 
she left her testimony to a Christian's faith by 
putting in brackets that triumphant strain from 
the 23d Psalm, " Yea, though I walk through the 
valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil ; 
for thou art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they 
comfort me." Some years ago I read at home a 
chapter at morning prayers. It was the forty- 
first chapter of Isaiah. Mother stopped me at 
the tenth verse and said, " Isn't the word pre- 
cious written there ? " " Yes," I replied, " how 
came it? And how happened you to remem- 
ber it ? " " I can never forget it," she said. 
" It will be forty years next spring ; father had 
gone away to preach [they never called each 
other by any name but father and mother] and 
would not be back for three months. That was 
years before you were born. I had four boys, 
the youngest two years old. It seemed to me I 
could not bear the burden of my anxiety and 
loneliness, and in my agony I went to the Bible, 
as I had so often done before. I opened the 
book, and put my finger on the page at random, 



30 my mother's bible 

and that was where it rested, ' Fear thou not ; for 
I am with thee ; he not dismayed, For I am thy 
God ; I will strengthen thee ; yea, I ivill help 
thee ; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand 
of my righteousness." It was then that I wrote 
the word precious there. I have never been 
the same woman that I was before that reading. 
Whenever I am troubled or in sorrow, one look 
at the verse and the pencil mark comforts me." 
Last month I met the man who was then her 
pastor, and he spoke of the marvellous change 
which came into her life, a change so marked 
that all the church felt it. Though she had 
shrunk from public speech up to this time, at 
the next prayer-meeting she led in prayer, and it 
was a second Pentecost. Her pastor relates that 
a class-leader touched him and said, " What a 
power! She prays like an angel from heaven! " 
Thus, throughout this book are scattered these 
triumphant vindications of the promises of God, 
proven in the thick of the battle. They were 
strong enough before ; but is it nothing that they 
bear my mother's attestation, " Tried and found 
true " ? In sickness, for she hardly knew a day 
without pain for forty years ; in the parting 
from friends, for she had followed many to the 
churchyard, and often looked upon these pages 
through a mist of tears ; in the loss of property, 
for she had suffered much at the hands of her 



31 



friends ; in burdens without number, for she 
had many and peculiar trials, — in all these 
sorrows she had written here, to last as long 
as these old pages endure, the triumphant 
exclamation of the dying Joshua concerning 
the promises of God, " Not one thing hath failed 
thereof." 

This old book carries me back a generation, to 
those delightful Sunday afternoons in my child- 
hood. I remember how I stood at her side, and 
and looked up in her sweet face. It was 
wrinkled even then, but the wrinkles were the 
marks of smiles and not of frowns. She thought 
so much of heaven that her eyes unconsciously 
followed her thought ; and in every hour of 
meditation they were turned upward, till she 
bore upon her brow the marks of hopeful expec- 
tancy. It was under such circumstances that I 
learned the sweet stories of the Bible, and heard 
about the Christ who loved little children. Thus 
we hallowed the Sabbath in our humble home. 
With mother's arms around my neck, and my 
head against her shoulder, I could not fail to 
love the words she read, "As one whom his 
mother comforteth, so will I comfort you" In 
tired, lonely hours I am fain to say, — 

" Mother, come back from the echoless shore; 
Take me again to your heart as of yore ! " 



32 MY mother's bible 

Mother in her later years was a great reader. 
She knew the works of Fletcher, Wesley, and 
Adam Clark better than any of her children. 
All the religious papers which came to the home 
she eagerly read, and every passage which espe- 
cially impressed her she cut out, or carefully 
marked to read to some friend. She kept her 
best clippings in this book, where she would see 
them often. She brought it to me one day, 
a year or two ago, and said she feared it was 
going to pieces, as it would not shut as it used 
to. As I noticed its plethoric condition, a sus- 
picion crossed my mind of the probable trouble. 
I proceeded to take from its pages some hundreds 
of clippings which she had put there to read and 
keep. When these were removed, it resumed its 
normal size, but the covers bear marks of the 
strain which was thus put upon them. Since 
these clippings went in one by one, as the occa- 
sion came, it did not occur to her that the book 
was overloaded. 

In looking the Bible over after mother's death, 
I found these selections among others. They 
were published, I think, in Zions Herald. They 
are so suggestive and beautiful, permit me to 
read parts of them to you. Here is one singu- 
larly in line with the thoughts of this hour. It 
was found soon after one of her sons had pre- 
sented her with a new Bible. 



33 



So you've brought me this costly Bible, 

With its covers so grand and gay. 
You thought I must need a new one 

On my eighty- first birthday, you say. 
Yes, mine is a worn-out volume, 

Grown ragged and yellow with age, 
With finger-prints thick on the margin ; 

But there's never a missing page. 



And the finger-prints call back my wee ones 

Just learning a verse to repeat; 
And again, in the twilight, their faces 

Look up to me, eagerly sweet. 
It has pencil-marks pointed in silence 

To words I have hid in my heart; 
And the lessons so hard in the learning, 

Once learned, can never depart. 



" There's the verse your grandfather spoke of 

The very night that he died; 
' When I shall wake in His likeness 

I, too, shall be satisfied.' 
And here, inside the old cover, 

Is a date; it is faded and dim, 
For I wrote it the day the good pastor 

Baptized me — I've an old woman's whim 



That beside the pearl-gates he is waiting, 

And when by and by I shall go, 
That he will lead me into that kingdom, 

As into this one below. 
And under that date, little Mary, 

Write another one when I die; 
Then keep both Bibles and read them. 

God bless you, child, why should you cry ? 



34 my mother's bible 

Your gift is a beauty, my dearie, 

With its wonderful clasps of gold. 
Put it carefully into that drawer; 

I shall keep it till death; but the old — 
Just leave it close by on the table, 

And then you may bring me a light, 
And I'll read a sweet psalm from its pages 

To think of, if wakeful to-night." 

— London Christian. 

As an expression of the simple trust and the 
deep humility which marked her life, these 
stanzas are most appropriate : — 

" There's rest for weary hearts down here, 
And home for stainless souls up there; 
I need not wear the chain till death, 
I need not till my latest breath 
In bondage go. 

The pastures green are here, not there; 
His love brings rest and peace, not fear; 
Believing now, I share that rest, 
For God is sure to give what's best 
His trusting child. 

God asks no servile life from me; 
I will His will; that makes me free. 
What wonder, then, if all along 
My lips and life are full of song, 
For He is mine! 

A life of worry, want, and wear, 
A life of discord, doubt, and care, 
I may not, will not, live on earth; 
It ill becomes the second birth 
Of God's own child. 



my mother's bible 35 

And He is king in this poor heart, 
And I am glad to take a part 
In any burden, work, or cross, 
Reproach or sorrow, pain or loss, 
That honors Him. 

Not what He gives is my chief bliss, 
But what He is-, and mine be this, 
To know, to love, to serve, adore, 
My Saviour, King, forevermore, 
This is my heaven." 

There was a sad prophecy in the following poem, 
which was cut by mother's hand and treasured 
here. Father was eighty years of age when 
mother left us. 

" LEFT ALONE AT EIGHTY. 

What did you say, — breakfast? 

Somehow I've slept too late; 
You are very kind, dear Effie ; 

Go, tell them not to wait. 
I'll dress as quick as ever I can ; 

My old hands tremble sore, 
And Polly, who used to help, dear heart! 

Lies t'other side o' the door. 

The bees go humming the whole day long, 

And the first June rose has blown, 
And I am eighty, dear Lord, to-day — 

Too old to be left alone ! 
O heart of love ! so still and cold, 

O precious lips! so white — 
For the first sad hours in sixty years 

You were out of my reach last night. 



36 



I can't rest, deary — I cannot rest; 

Let the old man have his will, 
And wander from porch to garden post — 

The house is so deathly still ; 
Wander, and long for a sight of the gate 

She has left ajar for me — 
We had got so used to each other, dear, 

So used to each other, you see. 

Sixty years, and so wise and good, 

She made me a better man, 
From the moment I kissed her fair young face, 

And our lovers' life began. 
And seven fine boys she has given me, 

And out of the seven, not one 
But the noblest father in all the land 

Would be proud to call his son. 

Oh, well, dear Lord! I'll be patient, 

But I feel so broken up; 
At eighty years it's an awesome thing 

To drain such a bitter cup ; 
I know, there's Joseph and John and Hal, 

And four good men beside, 
But a hundred sons couldn't be to me 

Like the woman I made my bride. 

My little Polly, so bright and fair! 

So winsome and good and sweet! 
She had roses twined in her sunny hair, 

White shoes on her dainty feet; 
And I held her hand — Was it yesterday 

That we stood up to be wed? 
And — No, I remember, I'm eighty to-day, 

And my dear wife, Polly, is dead." 



MY mother's bible 37 

The last selection tells its own story, and was 
most appropriate to the two pilgrims who had 
journeyed so long together. 

"WAYFARERS. 

[The story connected with the following touching lines, 
whose author is not known, adds new beauty to their tender 
pathos. A few weeks ago, at the age of eighty-three, there 
died in Boston a Christian man who for three years before bis 
death had read the following verses to his aged wife every 
evening after family prayers before retiring. One of the way- 
farers has reached home; the "tired feet" of the other are 
nearing the same blessed country.] 

" The way is long, my darling, 

The road is rough and steep, 
And fast across the evening sky 

I see the shadows sweep. 
But oh, my love, my darling! 

No ill to us can come, 
No terror turn us from the path, 

For we are going home. 

Your feet are tired, my darling, — 

So tired the tender feet ! 
But think, when we are there at last, 

How sweet the rest! how sweet! 
For lo! the lamps are lighted, 

And yonder gleaming dome, 
Before us shining like a star, 

Shall guide our footsteps home. 

The wind blows cold, my darling, 

Adown the mountain steep, 
Ami thick across the evening sky 

The darkling shadows creep ! 



38 



But oh, my love! press onward, 

Whatever trials come, 
For in the way the Father set 

We two are going home." — Advance. 

When Napoleon asked one of the wisest of 
French women what was the greatest need of 
France, she replied, " Mothers ! " A noble 
motherhood is everywhere the surest prophecy 
of a noble state ; but we must have a Christian 
motherhood. A Christian home will insure 
Christian men and women for the future, and 
that means a Christian nation. Mother, let 
your boy be able to say of you when you are 
gone, "She was a Christian." Give the Bible 
a place in your home. It is the secret of holy, 
noble living and triumphant dying. Some of 
you have relics which have come down as heir- 
looms from other generations — broad acres 
held by the family for scores or hundreds of 
years, ancestral plate which has gleamed across 
the table for many a year, costly silks and laces 
which decked bride or groom a hundred years 
ago ; but I would not give up this old book for 
any or all of them. No words can express 
what this legacy is to me. A few months since, 
as my mother lay dying, she whispered in my 
ear that she wished me to have certain things. 

I said, " Mother, there is one thing I would 
like — the old Bible." 



my mother's bible 39 

I had seen how it had inspired her joys, as- 
suaged her sorrows, and hushed her fears, as she 
trod the toilsome ways of life ; and in the 
solemn hour when her feet touched the river's 
edge, I saw its promises still remaining as the 
one comfort of her soul. I am sure, therefore, 
that whoever guides his life by this book is wise, 
and in the flood of great waters he who stands 
upon its promises shall not be moved. 

" This book is all that's left nie now. 

Tears will unbidden start. 
With faltering lips and throbbing brow 

I press it to ray heart. 
For many generations past 

Here is our family tree; 
My mother's hands this Bible clasped, 

She, dying, gave it me. 

Ah, well do I remember those 

Whose names these records bear, 
Who round the hearthstone used to close 

After the evening prayer, 
And speak of what these pages said 

In tones my heart would thrill ; 
Though they are with the silent dead, 

Here they are living still. 

Thou truest friend man ever had, 

Thy constancy I've tried. 
When all were false I found thee true, 

My counsellor and guide. 
The mines of earth no treasures give 

That could this volume buy; 
In teaching me the way to live, 

It taught me how to die." 



40 my mother's bible 



A REFUGE FOR THE FAMILY 

" Come thou and all thy house into the ark." — Genesis 
vii. 1. 

THE chemical elements of which water is 
composed are everywhere present in the air 
we breathe : a single chemical or electric change 
is sufficient to unite them. There is constantly 
floating above us, in the atmosphere which sur- 
rounds the earth, a sufficient quantity of water 
to cover the earth with an ocean more than two 
miles in depth. Though a single chemical dis- 
turbance would be sufficient to precipitate this 
deluge upon the earth, science unites with the 
Bible in saying, that the final destruction of this 
earth will be by fire and not by water. To the 
inspired declaration, " The elements shall melt 
with fervent heat, the earth also and the works 
that are therein shall be burned up," science 
answers, "Amen." It has also given its assent 
to another Bible declaration. It once affirmed 
that there had been no universal flood. It now 
makes late amend by telling us that several 
floods have ingulfed the world, in whole or in 



A REFUGE FOR THE FAMILY 41 

part, since it came forth from its mother Chaos. 
Science has certainly nothing to offer against 
the Noachian flood, and it is not necessary for 
us now to consider whether it was partial or 
"universal. 

Because of the degradation of our race God 
sent a flood upon the earth. One man out of a 
race is faithful, and him God uses to accomplish 
his purposes. We speak of Job as the most 
patient of men, and he deserves all we say in 
his praise ; but what shall we say of Noah, God's 
chosen helper? At work for a hundred and 
twenty years on one idea ! The fanatic of his 
time — such a man as we call to-day a crank. 
His counsel contemned, his advice rejected, 
jeered at, and despised, but still he toils on. 

I think I find one secret of his continuance 
in the fact that he was at work. Men lose faith 
when they are idle. I know of no tonic so 
helpful as work. If your heart is full of anguish 
let your hands be full of work, and soon your 
own heart will grow warm and happy, as you 
behold what you have done for others. It is a 
church at work which is a church of faith. The 
world is looking to see your faith worked out at 
your finger-tips ; and when it finds what church 
cares most for the poor, and works hardest for 
the unfortunate and the fallen, it will know 
what church to join. 



42 my mother's bible 

I see the timbers for the ark scattered over 
the ground, acre after acre. Do you realize how 
great a work Noah had undertaken ? Reckoning 
twenty-one inches for a cubit, he is to construct 
a vessel five hundred and twenty-five feet long, 
eighty-seven feet wide, and fifty-two feet deep, 
and so built as to hold nearly a third more than 
the Great Eastern, though that was six hundred 
and ninety-one feet long, eighty-three feet wide, 
and fifty-eight feet deep. In 1609 Jansen, a 
Holland shipbuilder, found out that a vessel 
built on the model of the ark would hold one 
third more freight than one of the same cubic 
feet built in the usual way. The seventeenth 
century had to go back four thousand years to 
a man who never had seen the ocean, to learn 
how to build a ship. See him work on ! There 
are massive structures begun, or great schemes 
commenced foolishly, in our land, and when the 
originator gives it up, or it is manifestly un- 
wise, the neighbors name the pile after him, 
and call it " Smith's Folly" in Ohio, and " Stew- 
art's Folly" in New York. So for a hundred 
years they called that pile of timber "Noalis 
Folly." Children were born, came to manhood, 
were married, held their children's children on 
their knees, and still the poor deluded man 
toiled on. 

Some of us Christians get discouraged if a 



A REFUGE FOR THE FAMILY 43 

week intervenes between our prayer and its 
answer. We talk about our faith being shaken 
because a few months roll by and we are appar- 
ently unanswered. What do you think of a 
faith which did not waver for a hundred and 
twenty years? Faint-hearted Christian, study 
that picture from the world's twilight until you 
catch its spirit ! You have the light of the ages 
and the confidence of a wonderful history. 
Noah had neither, but he held on to an unheard- 
of thing with a grip which a century of waiting 
did not loosen. As Martin Luther quaintly 
says, " He held on to Him whom he saw not as 
if he saw Him." 

But it comes at last ; and, notice this, it comes 
as soon as he is ready. The clock of God's 
providence waits until the hour before it strikes, 
but it never fails to strike when the hour comes. 
This is as true in your life as in the life of Noah. 
You have asked God for some things, and won- 
dered because they did not come. God could 
not send them, for you were not in condition 
to receive them. Every day of faithful service 
hastens the hour when God shall be able to give 
you that greater blessing for which your soul 
longs. 

There are portents of the coming storm. The 
hand of God is slipping the bolts of the flood- 
gates, and the fountains of the deep are breaking 



44 my mother's bible 

their bounds. All this the careless world heeds 
not, but the ear of faith hears the warning 
voice, " Come thou and all thy house into the 
ark." He has listened long for that voice ; he 
hears it and obeys. "And the Lord shut him 
in." Let the floods come: let the fountains of 
the deep be broken up. Let the hills sink out 
of sight, and the mountains hide themselves in 
the uplifted seas. When God builds an ark 
it will be safe and safely piloted. The man 
who has trusted God will see the time when he 
does not need } T our sympathy. The mills of 
God grind slowly, but they grind fine. Once 
the man of faith was scoffed at and despised. 
Where now is the scoffer and the careless ? 

" He could not arouse them ; unheeding they stood, 
Unmoved by his warning and prayer. 
The prophet passed in from the on-coming flood, 
And left them to hopeless despair. 

The flood-gates were opened, the deluge came on, 

The heavens as midnight grew dark : 
Too late then they turned, every foothold was gone ; 

They perished in sight of the ark." 

Noah, by his faith, saves not only himself, 
but his whole family; and being the first just 
man who saves others, he becomes the type of 
the Redeemer who came to save a world. 

What a storm is on the world ! What wreck- 
age floats along the shores of time! I see the 



A REFUGE FOR THE FAMILY 45 

pride of manhood, the grace of womanhood, the 
beauty of childhood, swept down by the tides 
of passion to the wild dance of death, to the 
cruel jaws of the breakers. I see the ship with 
humanity on board foundering and going down. 
But I see a life-boat pushing out from the 
shore. It is manned by one whose visage is 
marred by his struggle for the lost. He has 
the heart of a Brother, the strength of Omnipo- 
tence, and the love of God; and he skirts the 
shores of time, seeking for shipwrecked souls. 
Refuge from the storm! Ark of safety for the 
shipwrecked! "Come thou and all thy house 
into the ark! " 

" The old ark had its door in the side, and the 
cruel spear of the Roman soldier opened a door 
of refuge in the Saviour's side." Though but 
a spear-thrust, it was wide enough to take in a 
world. Eight for the ark, but billions for 
Jesus ! This ark was a place of safety. " G-od 
shut him in." There are many here to testify 
also of the safety of that life which is hid with 
Christ in God. Property goes ; sickness comes ; 
faces grow white and still ; songs change to sobs ; 
roses to immortelles; and death steals in at the 
window, and all the air is dark with shadows. 
But even then the angel of His presence folded 
down sweet promises upon your throbbing heart, 
and you were comforted. 



46 my mother's bible 

Again, who would suppose that any would 
have refused to come into the ark ? But they 
did. Noah preached a hundred and twenty 
years, and never made a convert outside of his 
own house. I fear I should have given up 
preaching long before, or have asked to be sent 
to another field. Do we blame the careless men 
of that time ? Ours is the greater condemnation. 
They had nothing to supplement Noah's faith: 
we have. For one hundred and twenty years 
no signs of the flood were seen, but the flood 
is already apparent to you. They delayed, and 
the floods came, and they were lost. Shall it 
be so with you ? A pain in your side, cutting its 
way to your heart. Things grow dark in a 
moment. The wheels stop, and they do not 
start. The doctor comes and says, "Nothing 
can be done." Dead! and outside of the ark! 

I presume there were many who were laughed 
out of coming into the ark. Their comrades 
say, "That's an old wife's fable. Who ever 
heard of a flood? Have a good time with us! 
After us the deluge ! Don't let any one frighten 
you! " Such words as these are echoed even to- 
day. Not frighten you! Indeed, the city does 
not hesitate to undertake that. It hangs a red 
flag of warning over your door, and frightens 
your neighbors from you. If the small-pox 
invades your home, it forcibly removes your 



A REFUGE FOR THE FAMILY 47 

dear one, and will not even allow you to see 
her. It would force you to the vaccination of 
your child, that the plague may not spread 
among us. Would that every one here might 
be so frightened of evil as to keep clear from 
every spot which breeds the plague. 

Many men, to avoid a sneering laugh, act 
contrary to their better judgment. Disciples 
in our day have boldly drawn a sword for the 
Master, who have yet denied him rather than 
face a sneer. I know of no weapon sharper 
than a sneer, to wound the heart of a young dis- 
ciple. Let men laugh if they will; it will soon 
be over. Better so than to hear God say, "I 
also will laugh at your calamity. I will mock 
when your fear cometh." Shall a man laugh 
you to your death ? 

Eighty-four years ago a minister's son walked 
these streets of ours and was a student in Brown 
University. He became very intimate with a 
fellow-student, who sneered at religion and was 
an avowed infidel. His friend, whose name 
was E , gradually planted the same feel- 
ings in his heart, and he went home to carry 
shame and sorrow to his father. When his 
college course was finished, he was travelling 
across the country, and as he stopped at a hotel 
the landlord said, " A young man is very sick 
in the next room to you. I hope it will not 



48 my mother's bible 

disturb you." He went to bed, but could not 
sleep. Only a partition was between him and 
a soul that was passing hence! Was he pre- 
pared to go? But he tried to throw off such 

feelings. " What would E say if he knew 

how my infidelity had gone ? How could I bear 
his sneer? " When he came down in the morn- 
ing he asked how the young man was. "He 
is dead," they answered. He asked his name 
and residence. They told him he was a stu- 
dent in Brown University, and his name was 
E . It was his college friend — dead with- 
out hope. 

When he recovered his self-possession suffi- 
ciently he started for home. He thought how 
his comrade's sneers had kept him from God, 
and now he was dead and lost! He was not 
content. He entered Andover Theological 
School, though not converted. Three months 
afterward he gave his heart to God, and en- 
tered the Christian Ministry. His body lies in 
the coral depths off the coast of Burmah, but 
his memory is precious, for he was the greatest 
missionary of the Baptist Church. His name 
was Adoniram Judson. Kept away from God 
for years by a sneer, but at last winning thou- 
sands for Christ. 1 

Finally, " Come thou and all thy house into 

1 Memorial of Dr. Judson. Wayland, pp. 22-25. 



A REFUGE FOR THE FAMILY 49 

the ark." The religion of Jesus is for the 
whole family. Nineteen hundred passages in 
the Bible affirm it. You can't take your wife 
and babies to the lodge-room, or the lecture, 
or the theatre; but Christ has something for 
the babies and for the young men, and for 
the middle-aged and the old. If no one else 
has come, you come, mother. A mother has 
more cords drawing her to Christ than has any 
one else. If all others fail, let baby fingers 
draw you there. When mother comes I don't 
believe father can stand it long. Mother's ten- 
der way will bring him. Not much is said, but 
he feels it. He can't scold if he wants to; 
he would feel better if he could. He stands it 
till he can stand it no longer ; and then he says, 
"Mother, I'll go with you! " He tries to pray, 
and they have it out in sobs on each other's 
shoulder. In the morning, after breakfast, 
there is a little hush, a strange pause, and 
father says to the children, "Your mother and 
I are going to begin a Christian life, and here- 
after this is to be a Christian home. We set 
up the family altar this morning." What is a 
family altar? It's a place on the parlor floor, 
on the kitchen floor, large enough for the fam- 
ily to kneel down — that and a Bible make a 
family altar. A few days after that, the eldest 
girl comes in, and says, "Mamma, I've been 



50 my mother's bible 

praying, and I know Jesus has heard me, and 
I'm going to be his forever." And some night 
one of the boys asks his father to come to his 
room before he goes to bed. And when his 
father comes, he turns the key and says, "I 
can't stand it any longer. The home is so dif- 
ferent from what it was. You and mother have 
been praying for me, and I can't get away from 
it." And then he breaks down, and they pray. 
When the door opens it's hard to tell which is 
the happier. So the children come to Christ, 
and the neighbors say, "What a happy home." 
The years go by. The boys and girls are 
scattered, but bear precious seed wherever they 
go. Some day the doctor's carriage stands at 
the old homestead, and when it goes away 
father goes down to the office and sends a tele- 
gram: "Please come home, children, mother is 
poorly." They come and stand around the bed. 
She simply says, "I'm going home now, chil- 
dren. I dreamed last night I saw the little 
baby we lost almost forty years ago; and he 
clapped his little hands, and said, ' I'm so glad 
you've come! ' Be kind to father, for he's get- 
ting old; and now, if you'll sing one of the 
hymns we used to sing, I think I'll go to 
sleep." And so she fell asleep, and she was at 
home. One on earth, one forever in heaven — 
all in the ark, thank God! 



THE MOTHER'S WAGES 51 



THE MOTHER'S WAGES 

" Take this child away, and nurse it for me, and I will 
give thee thy wages." — Exodus ii. 9. 

ON the bosom of the Nile mighty fleets have 
floated, and on its banks great battles have 
been fought, in the centuries past. The sources 
of its waters are among the later secrets which 
daring men have wrested from the hand of 
Nature at the cost of many lives and much 
treasure. There are many names of modern 
times which will be forever associated with 
it — Livingstone, Gordon, Grant, Speke, Stan- 
ley. Up its waters many helpful influences are 
yet to go for the enlightenment of the Dark 
Continent, and humble worshippers shall sing 
the songs of Christian faith upon its banks, as 
now they sing them along the Hudson or the 
Mississippi. 

Though many a brave prow has cut its waters, 
measured by influence, the greatest bark it ever 
bore was a willow basket with a babe for cap- 
tain and crew. But it had an unseen Pilot, 
who steered it to a haven provided by the daugh- 
ter of a king. It is not necessary that I should 



52 my mother's bible 

rehearse trie pleasing story of the rescue of the 
child Moses, or dwell at length upon the fact 
that he who is to deliver a race from a Pha- 
raoh's chain is nourished in a Pharaoh's palace. 
You remember how unwittingly the child's 
mother is selected by his rescuer as his nurse. 

" It chanced: eternal God that chance did guide. " 

" Take this child away, and nurse it for me, 
and I will give thee thy wages," said Nefe- 
rari to Jochebed, and she places the child in 
his mother's arms. The mother has him only 
until he is three years old ; but in that time, 
with such subsequent visits as she may have 
made as a domestic at the palace, she so im- 
presses his heart with the promises of God and 
the glorious future of his people, that all the 
wisdom of the Egyptians does not obliterate the 
impression. So profound are his convictions 
under her teaching, that he chooses the reproach 
of Israel rather than the riches of Egypt. Wise 
mother! you thought only to lead a child, but 
you have led a nation, and in preserving un- 
spotted that little life a race has been preserved 
to God. Greater deeds are often wrought in a 
Hebrew hovel than in a Pharaoh's palace. 

The command of Pharaoh's daughter is the 
same which accompanies every traveller who 



the mother's wages 53 

floats into our homes from an unknown shore. 
Train this child for me. It is God's property. 
The object of all training should be thor- 
oughly settled at the very beginning. How 
will you intelligently instruct a child if you 
have no well-conceived plan or purpose in that 
instruction ? 

The trainer of that horse is training him for 
speed. He will put no heavy burdens upon 
him. He will allow nothing which can possi- 
bly incapacitate him when the time shall come 
to win the prize. Will you be less careful with 
an immortal soul? The trainer will hardly 
leave his charge when the lists are open, so 
careful is he lest harm should come to the 
object of his care. 

But I have heard fathers and mothers say, " I 
do not believe in interfering with a child in 
the matter of his relations to God." Hear it, 
angels, and shudder! And is there no differ- 
ence between vice and virtue, heaven and hell, 
God and the Devil, that a child should not be 
moved by every power that love can bring to 
choose one or the other? Not taught concern- 
ing God! That is the first business you have 
with your child, and it is the special purpose 
for which God gave him to you. " The child 
will find out for himself." You do not allow 
him to do that in any other important matter. 



54 



You even insist upon his articles of food. The 
child has a choice of his own, but you say, 
"No, my child, that will harm you; you can- 
not have it." And you insist even in the face 
of the child's protest and tears. 

You hire teachers at great expense, and sup- 
plement their teaching with your own earnest 
endeavors. Will you do less in matters of 
moral instruction? It is true, as you have 
said, the boy may find out; but one does not 
find out what poison will do in his system until 
he has taken it, and then it is too late to help 
him. Many a man has found out the folly of 
evil sowing, but it was after the harvest had 
come. 

If your child were to be adopted by some 
king, at a certain age, if he could pass a requi- 
site examination, how you would talk of that 
king and the requirements. You would speak 
often of that country, of its people, its laws, 
and its customs. But, though your child is an 
heir to an everlasting kingdom, I fear he is not 
often told of the requirements of that kingdom, 
nor led lovingly to pattern his life after Christ, 
the Elder Brother. 

You have more than an individual interest; 
for the great questions of morality and religion 
in the nation and the world are to be settled for 
the next fifty years by the children of to-day. 



the mother's wages 55 

All unknown to you, you are daily, it may be, 
in association with, those who are to make or 
mar the destinies of a nation. John Trebonius, 
the instructor of Martin Luther, always ap- 
peared before his boys with uncovered head. 
"There may be among them," said he, "those 
who shall be learned doctors, sage legislators, 
nay, princes of the Empire." Even then there 
was among them that solitary monk who shook 
the world. Great destinies are being wrought 
out in - the humblest home, and high dignity is 
granted to every mother; for "The hand that 
rocks the cradle rules the world." 

"It is strange," as said the Greek philoso- 
pher, " that we spend so much time in gaining 
property and so little on those to whom we are 
soon to leave it all." When you and I have 
passed away, questions which have long vexed 
us will be settled, and some man who is now a 
child in the cradle will solve the problem. 
Departed kings have left behind them pyramid, 
and parthenon, and colosseum, statue and tri- 
umphal arch, to tell of their wealth or power; 
but the mother who leaves the imprint of Christ 
upon her child, shall have sweet recompense and 
blessed memorial when arch and statue have 
crumbled to dust. 

As to methods of training I have little to say. 
The wise mother will find the best methods 



56 my mother's bible 

by experience. Each child needs a method 
suited to his peculiarities. No method can be 
named of universal application. There are, 
however, some things which it is always wise 
to do. To every godless father and mother I 
say, choose Christ for yourself as the first re- 
quisite for the proper discharge of your duties. 
To the Christian I say, use the means of grace 
at home. Return thanks to God publicly at 
every meal. Set up the family altar. Your 
acts at home are of more significance than your 
words in church. The children soon see 
whether your religion is a part of yourself or 
only a cloak which you put on for an occasion. 
Outsiders you may deceive, but your children 
will hold you at your real value. 

"And I will give thee thy wages." I have 
spoken of the blessed return which came to 
Moses' nurse-mother. In our time we have 
seen mothers reaping blessed harvests for faith- 
ful sowing in the home. It is not many years 
since we had a signal illustration of this. A 
mother who had made great sacrifices for her 
son, who had led him in early years to give his 
heart to Christ, saw her son chosen by the suf- 
frages of a great people to be their chief mag- 
istrate. She sat quietly by, surrounded by 
senators and diplomates, and saw him invested 
with the authority of the mightiest nation upon 



the mother's wages 57 

the face of the earth, and then she saw him 
turn, like the grateful son he was, and passing 
by princes and judges, stoop to print a kiss 
upon the wrinkled cheek of his mother, who 
had made him what he was. Faithful mother, 
thou too shalt witness the crowning of thy 
child a king unto God. It was only a little 
time, and the happy mother came to weep 
broken-hearted over her noble son, shot down 
by the assassin's hand; but for thee there shall 
be a Coronation in the land where the wicked 
cease from troubling and the weary rest. 

Thy wages, then, are sure. Who has not 
heard of St. Augustine and the more saintly 
Monica, his mother, who turned him unto God 
by her sweet, holy life. The depraved John 
Newton said, the voice of his mother came to 
him as it were from the dead, and led him back 
to virtue. John Randolph said, "I should have 
been an atheist but for the recollection of my 
sainted mother's prayers." 

But for the prayerless mother, what wages! 
See that man in the gutter. The children turn 
frightened away; even the tender-hearted pass 
by on the other side. His lips are foul now, 
but once a mother delighted to kiss them ; the 
eyes that are so dull now, once shone like the 
stars. Once there were many who spoke him 
fair, but none are left to care for him now. It 



58 my mother's bible 

was such a man who said to me, " I never had 
any help at home." How is it with your girl, 
mother? Is she less interested in the good; 
does she go less to the house of God and more 
with worldly companions? I shudder when I 
think of the drift of society and of literature 
to-day. Others as good as your girl have 
drifted from home in a careless hour, and 
many in this fair city are living a shameful life. 
Can any of these say also, "I never had any 
help at home ? " No help at home ! Think of 
it! There are enough to help toward sin. 
Enough to spread the net and to rejoice when 
one more victim is added to the number. Many 
to whisper the words of evil which influence 
the heart; but in the place of all places from 
which strength should come, no help! 

I do not charge any parent with not caring 
for the body of his child. The community 
would cry out against such an outrage, and 
demand that he perform the duties of a par- 
ent. I do not say you are not giving your 
children intellectual training. The law of the 
State makes that obligatory. But still it is 
true that the cry of starving childhood is reach- 
ing the ear of God. It is a cry for spiritual 
bread and spiritual instruction. Meet it in the 
fear of God, dear parents, and your children 
shall rise here and hereafter to call you blessed. 



life's voyage 59 



LIFE'S VOYAGE 

" My days are passed away as the swift ships." — Job. ix. 26. 

I 

SETTING SAIL 

IpROM the days when Job sounded the gamut 
-■- of human experience until the present, this 
life has ever been likened to a voyage over the 
changeful sea. Its obstacles and dangers are 
typified by the rocks and bars along the coast. 
Its afflictions and sorrows find their counter- 
part in the clouds and storms hurtling through 
the heavens, and sweeping the yeasty seas. The 
ribbed hulk half-buried in the sand, her last 
voyage over, her hold empty, and her decks 
forsaken, a menace to every coastwise mariner, 
reminds us, all too plainly, of the broken hulks 
along the sea of life, which, shorn of beauty, 
worth, and manhood, are useful only as a warn- 
ing to any man who sails that way. It is my 
purpose, in these addresses, to use the familiar 
incidents of the voyage to enforce practical 
lessons in everyday life. I confess to have 
studied these incidents con amove. 



60 my mother's bible 

In my earlier years I knew well the ships and 
wharves of our greatest whaling-city. I knew 
the names of her vessels, and their history. I 
saw them putting in the stores for what seemed 
to me a lifetime in the Arctic ; and then, with 
the pilot, I went down the bay that I might be 
the last familiar face to climb over the ship's 
side as they stood out to sea. There were 
great-hearted men among them, — brave, gener- 
ous, and true, and susceptible to peculiar 
temptations. They were to be gone four years 
among icebergs and winter seas. Their frail 
vessel was liable to be crushed, like an egg- 
shell, between mountains of ice, without remedy 
or remainder. They were my own friends and 
parishioners, some of whom I had led to Christ, 
and whose spiritual welfare was ever upper- 
most in my thought ; and I watched every inci- 
dent of the voyage with interest and followed 
them with prayers. I knew well the dangers 
of their adventurous voyage, for I had held 
funeral service where there was no coffin to be 
covered with flowers, nor white face to be 
touched by lips or tears. Many a fathom deep 
that body lies ! 

"No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, 
Or redeem form or frame from the merciless serge ; 
But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, 
And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge." 



life's voyage 61 

So, as they sailed away, I watched them with 
moistened eyes, until their white sails ceased to 
fleck the sky, and then turned away, saying to 
myself, " When shall I see them again ? " 

I am thinking to-night of another voyage. I 
do not see the old-time crowding of the wharves, 
nor hear the parting call. There is no creaking 
of windlass, nor jolly chorus of sailors, as the 
anchor heaves atrip. But there are scores here 
getting ready for a longer voyage. I am more 
interested in this than in the other, for you 
voyage but once. In this voyage, habits ship for 
crews, eternal riches crowd the decks, prayers 
are in the sails, and you clear for hell or heaven. 
I ask myself not when shall I meet you, but 
where, and how? 

If you find the port of peace, willing crews 
must lift the sails to favoring winds, and stand 
watch by day and night for rocks and wrecks ; 
and a trusty Pilot, who knows the sands and 
tides, must guide you by a certain Chart. To 
help you in the choice of crew and pilot, to tell 
you of each favoring breeze, and warn you of 
each hidden bar and rock, I ask the aid of the 
great Pilot of the deep. 

Let us answer to-night the question : When 
shall I set sail ? 

Shakspeare spoke like a wise man when he 
wrote : — 



62 



" There is a tide in the affairs of men 
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
Is bound in shallows and in miseries." 

It is annoying to arrive at the station too late 
for the train. It would be a grief and disap- 
pointment to secure passage on an ocean steamer, 
and reach the wharf in time to see only the 
white wake of the steamer down the bay. But 
who shall describe his anguish, who in middle- 
life awakes to the fact that the spring-tides of 
his life are passed, that the great opportunities 
of his youth are gone forever, and no lament 
can bring them back ? The refrain which rises 
to his lips becomes the voice of his condemna- 
tion : " It might have been ! " It is a fearful 
thing to feel the galling of a chain which we 
ourselves have forged ; to realize that, struggle 
we never so hard, the struggle is useless, and 
that what was once within our reach, mocks us 
now from heights we cannot scale. 

Ah, my son, the tide still rises ! Yonder are 
the ripples, couriers of the coming breeze ; 
white-capped waves gleam down the bay. Pipe 
all hands ! spread every sail ! steer for the open 
sea, and the far port of peace ! 

"Let no man despise thy youth," said Paul 
to Timothy. He did not mean that Timothy 
was to be the embodiment of arrogant assump- 



63 



tion. Such a spirit in any age is an im- 
pertinence. There is nothing lovely in that 
sophomoric spirit which is too often displayed 
by young men, — the spirit of irreverence, of 
wild daring, of hardened precocity. We have 
our young men of eighteen who have sounded 
all the depths of sin. They are impatient of all 
law and restraint, both of home and of society ; 
and the opinions of older men are to them but 
the relics of a fossil age. Having gained all 
wisdom at eighteen, it becomes a matter of 
some interest to know how they will spend the 
next fifty years, if they should be so unfortunate 
as to continue that length of time on this mun- 
dane sphere. 

In spite of the large number who make their 
youth synonymous with folly, it is still the fact 
that the record of success is largely the record 
of youth. Let me rehearse the story of the 
achievements of famous men in the days of their 
youth. 

We are accustomed to think that age and 
long experience are necessary to plan great 
campaigns and win great battles, but listen to 
what young men have done upon the battle-field. 
Hannibal was only thirty when he stood victo- 
rious at Cannae, and Rome trembled. Charle- 
magne was master of France and Germany at 
thirty. Napoleon was only twenty-seven when 



64 my mother's bible 

he outgeneralled and defeated the old field- 
marshals of Austria. The great Conde was 
twenty-two when he won the victory at Rocroi. 
Alexander, the conqueror of untold millions, 
wept that he had no other world to conquer, 
and died at thirty-two. Not less marked have 
been the triumphs of youth in statecraft. 
Bolingbroke was secretary of war at twenty-six ; 
Richelieu at thirty-one. William Pitt was in 
Parliament at twenty-one, chancellor of the 
exchequer at twenty-three, prime minister at 
twenty-four. Young Chatham had already 
received many of the highest offices in the gift 
of his nation, when he pleaded guilty to the 
" atrocious crime " of being a young man. 

In our own country, Clay was senator at 
thirty, and Calhoun was state representative at 
twenty-nine. Alexander Hamilton was in Con- 
gress at twenty-two, at thirty-two he was the 
foremost statesman in America. Webster says, 
" He smote the dead corpse of public credit, 
and it arose and stood upon its feet." 

In art and literature the achievements of young 
men have astonished the world. Michael 
Angelo was twenty-nine when he carved his 
statue of David. Raphael and Pascal had fin- 
ished their life-work and were dead at thirty- 
seven ; Mozart at thirty-six. Shakspeare wrote 
Hamlet at thirty-six ; Keats wrote Endymion at 



65 



twenty-two, and died at twenty-five ; that mar- 
vellous poem, Thanatopsis, was written when 
Bryant was only nineteen. 

Such illustrations might be multiplied to 
show the actual achievements of youth in every 
field of great endeavor. Many of you are con- 
scious of a power within, struggling for expres- 
sion. Give it scope, or it will die. If you 
repress it now, you will long for it in coming 
years, but long in vain. I would not have you 
deduce from the facts I have given, that every 
man is to make his mark before he is thirty, or, 
failing in that, will never be heard from. There 
are some whose powers mature slowly, but 
maintain an increasing virility far into old age. 
It still remains true, however, that in every 
case youth has its opportunities and capacities, 
and all the after years are dependent in large 
measure upon their improvement. Live as 
long as you may, the first twenty years of your 
life are more pregnant with results than all the 
remaining years. 

I have spoken thus far of the relations of 
youth to secular concerns. May I ask your 
attention to concerns of even greater impor- 
tance ? Your success as scholar, artist, states- 
man, or poet is but for a little time ; but your 
success as a man you carry with you forever. 
In this regard the improvement of youth 



66 my mother's bible 

becomes in the highest degree important. 
Bacon, the sculptor, ordered the following inscrip- 
tion placed upon his tomb in Whitefield's 
Chapel : " What I was as an artist seemed to 
me of some importance while I lived ; but 
what I really was as a believer in Jesus Christ 
is the only thing of importance to me now." 
None are too young to begin a Christian life ; 
and grace, like the seed in the farmer's hands, 
needs to be sown in the springtime to bring the 
best results. Samuel and John were sanctified 
unto God from their birth ; Timothy knew the 
Scriptures from a child. Polycarp, dying at 
ninety-five, had served God eighty-six years. 
Baxter was converted when a child ; Jonathan 
Edwards at seven years of age ; Isaac Watts at 
nine ; Matthew Hemy at eleven, and Robert Hall 
at twelve. When will the church realize that a 
child need not wander fifteen years or more 
in the Devil's pastures before it is worth while 
to seek him, and bring him into the Lord's fold. 
Happy that fold from which the lambs never 
stray! Happy that shepherd who heeds his 
Lord's command : " Feed my lambs ! " Mothers, 
do not hinder your children from coming to the 
children's Christ. Do not say they are not old 
enough to understand the obligations of a 
Christian life. They are old enough to obey, 
and obedience is all God requires. 



life's voyage 67 

Let no man despise thy youth. In other 
words, let your youth be such as to win the 
approval, and not the condemnation, of men. If 
you have a happy old age, it will be because you 
lived wisely in your youth. Life is not a thing 
of chance. " Whatsoever a man soweth, that 
shall he also reap." Are you saying, Let us 
have a good time now ? That means sorrow and 
shame by and by. If you will use your time 
foolishly, wait until you are old : it will matter 
less then. In the springtime the kind, and 
largely the degree, of the harvest must be 
settled. Sow now the good seed. Weeds are 
more prolific than grain; and many a young 
man has found out to his cost, that his wild 
oats have brought him a harvest fearful in its 
abundance as well as bitter in its kind. 

And now, my voyager, up sail ! Take an 
observation, for you are already far from wharf 
and drifting on deep seas. It is time you laid 
your course, and bore away. When a vessel 
sails from our wharves the owners put their 
wealth into the captain's hands. He bears sealed 
orders, not to be opened till the pilot leaves the 
ship. He alone is now responsible for ship and 
cargo. He can sail as he will ; but a day of 
reckoning will come, when he must account for 
his stewardship. You sail with greater treas- 
ure than was ever borne over Spanish Main; and 



68 my mother's bible 

you, also, must account for your trust. He may 
founder in some storm, or drift upon some rock, 
and yet be trusted for a second voyage ; but you 
can try life's voyage but once. 

There is a sense in which each man sails 
under sealed orders, and sails a different route 
from every other. Like Coleridge's Mariner, 
each can say : — 

" We were the first that ever hurst 
Into that silent sea." 

But there is another sense in which we sail the 
same seas, and seek the same harbor. We face, 
therefore, the same dangers, and a chart for one 
is a chart for all. Mark well my words, and you 
shall not fail of a good voyage and a safe port. 

" Launch thy hark, mariner ! Christian, Heaven speed thee! 
Let loose the rudder-bands ! Good angels lead thee! 
Set thy sails warily, tempests will come. 
Steer thy course steadily ! Christian, steer home ! 

Look to the weather-bow, breakers are round thee ! 
Let fall the plummet now, shallows may ground thee. 
Eeef in the foresail there ! hold the helm fast ! 
So, let the vessel wear! there swept the blast. 

How gains the leak so fast ? Clear out the hold ! 
Hoist up thy merchandise, heave out the gold! 
There, let the ingots go ! now the ship rights ! 
Hurrah! the harbor's near : lo, the red lights! 

Slacken not sail yet at inlet or island ; 
Straight for the beacon steer, straight for the highland. 
Crowd all thy canvas on, cut through the foam ! 
Christian, cast anchor now, heaven is thy home! " 



life's voyage 69 

II 

PASSENGERS AND CREW 

A wiser man than any one of us wrote : " He 
that walketh with wise men shall be wise, but 
a companion of fools shall be destroyed." In 
view of the fact thus stated, let me ask in all 
seriousness the question, With whom do you 
intend. to sail? 

In 1842 there was a mutiny on board the 
brig Somers. The arch-conspirator was Philip 
Spencer, whose father was at that time Secre- 
tary of War in the cabinet of President Polk. 
It was the first mutiny in the American navy. 
Spencer had approached two others, and in- 
flamed them with his own purpose. The con- 
spiracy was revealed ; the men were convicted, 
and sentenced to be hung. Just before the sen- 
tence was executed, — and there was but an hour 
between the time the commander pronounced 
sentence and its execution, — Mr. Small turned 
to his shipmates and said, " I was never a pirate. 
I never killed a man ; but I am now to die. My 
death is evidence of what a word will do." He 
spent but a few minutes with a wicked man, 
but they wrought for him an untimely and 
ignominious death. 



70 my mother's bible 

The mightiest factor in moulding character is 
personal influence. That is true in the home, 
in school, in public. If you say that is a trite 
remark, let me ask, have you always acted in 
harmony with it? It is the personality of 
father and mother which has left its stamp 
upon you, quite as much as their teaching. 
Every student must acknowledge the same 
thing true of his professors. It was the per- 
sonality of Hopkins which drew Garfield to 
Williams College. Woolsey fashioned the 
Yale of his day, as Arnold made Rugby. 
Latin and Greek will be forgotten, but the 
imprint of the teacher's character will deepen 
under the hand of time. 

Your future self will then be mainly deter- 
mined by your associates. If you have the 
opportunity of choice, it is right that you 
should be judged by the company you keep. 
I know some of you will object to that, but it 
will be applied even to you. More than once 
have I been to the police-station to get the 
release of a good boy (?) who was caught in 
bad company. The fact that you choose bad 
companions, is proof of itself that you are in 
sympathy with the low and vulgar. You do 
not wish to swear, to break the Sabbath, to act 
the rowdy ; but you will, or you will get out 
of the company of those who do. If you sail 



life's voyage 71 

with pirates you must expect a pirate's doom. 
Little weight will the judge give to your pro- 
testations of innocence. He will answer, " You 
entered this company from choice, therefore you 
belong to it." The only way for you to become 
better, is to seek the company of those who are 
better instructed, better mannered, and better 
morally, than yourself. 

Do not make a companion of a low or wicked 
man. Do not go into business partnership with 
such a man. Above all, do not make such a 
person your partner for life. I have lived long 
enough to see in human life tremendous empha- 
sis put upon the apostle's prohibition : " Be ye 
not unequally yoked together with unbelievers." 
It is possible that the believing wife or husband 
may lead the unbeliever to a Christian choice 
and life ; but there are two other things which 
happen, I fear, quite as often. The constant 
association with one who does not fear God, 
nor work righteousness, whose choices are self- 
ish and worldly, or even worse, becomes the 
death of all holy sentiment and godly living ; 
or, what is almost as bad, two hearts drift apart, 
and each choosing its own way, they lose all 
common interest, and become dead to each 
other and those tender and solemn ministra- 
tions which they promised at the marriage altar 
to fulfil until death should them part. Beware 



72 MY mother's bible 

that you do not awake in middle-life to find 
yourself joined to one for whose character you 
can have no respect, but from whom only shame 
or death can separate you. 

I would not dare to say that a business man 
cannot be a Christian with a profane and vulgar 
man for a partner, but I do say he will have a 
terrible burden to carry. His moral tone will 
be lowered if his religion is not lost; and he will 
feel, so long as he preserves his integrity, that 
annoyance and sorrow which virtue must ever 
feel in the presence of vice. For two such per- 
sons there can be nothing in common in the 
highest realms of life. 

Here } t ou are in a great city. Some of you 
have come from quiet country homes, where the 
voice of prayer was daily heard. You have 
brought with you tender recollections of the 
solicitude of home, and the echo of its instruc- 
tion and admonitions are all about you ; but if 
you give place to the wicked associations and 
evil voices which forever haunt the streets you 
tread, it will not be long before the new asso- 
ciations will crowd out the thoughts of the old, 
and the far-off voices, though they be tender and 
true, will be drowned in the sea of evil which 
rises daily to your ears. 

Companions and friends you will have, — it 
is right that you should : the question presents 



life's voyage 73 

itself, how shall you make the choice ? On what 
basis shall a person be admitted into that charmed 
circle you call friends ? I answer, not on the 
basis of birth nor intellectual attainment. It is 
not enough that he belongs to your set, or that 
his intellectual preferences are similar to yours. 
The only basis upon which you can choose is 
the basis of character. It is this which divides 
the sheep from the goats, — a line which crosses 
all ages, classes, and conditions of men. It 
reaches to the highest heaven and the lowest 
hell, and is the only sure standard by which you 
can abide. A bad man, whatever his gifts or 
attainments, will do you harm. A good man, 
who is also so congenial as to be chosen by you as 
a friend, cannot fail to do you good. This mode 
of choice will not hinder you from helping those 
who desire to be better ; for surely that charac- 
ter which is aspiring to be better cannot, at heart, 
be bad. 

I have asked with whom will you sail ? Let 
me now ask, What crew have you shipped? 
In other words, What are the motives by which 
you are actuated, and the habits which help or 
limit you ? Too many come into life with the 
idea that money-getting is the supreme aim; 
that they are to get all they can, and hold all 
they get. To such, opportunity brings no obli- 
gation, and they only value men and the world 



74 



for what they can get out of them. If all acted 
from such unworthy motives the ruin of the in- 
dividual and the State would not be far off. The 
true motive is that which actuated Him who 
came " not to be ministered unto, but to minis- 
ter." Who giveth most, receiveth most; and 
for him who giveth himself in helpful service for 
others, men and angels, soon or late, shall wave 
palms and sing paeans. You have been receiving 
from others ever since your birth, what have you 
done in return ? You will add to the world's 
betterment only as you give back more than you 
have received. 

If your motives are unworthy, all your life is 
ruined. Yours should be a voyage not for self 
but for help. Many years ago two vessels 
passed each other on the wide sea, each manned 
by wise and sturdy sailors, and each successful 
in its way; but there was an infinite distance 
between them, in the thought of the wise and 
the good. One was filled with shackled human 
beings, borne from their homes to die under the 
lash of the slaver, or of fever in the cotton- 
swamp, to satisfy human greed. The other was 
filled with bread, sent by Christian men to re- 
lieve the hunger of starving men and women on 
the Arran Islands. A difference of motive as 
wide as this, is seen in the voyagings of human 
life. 



75 



Be quick in all your sympathies, and let your 
purposes have the breadth of a great heart. Well 
has Beecher said, " The voyage of life should be 
right across the ocean whose waters never shrink 
and where the keel never rubs the bottom. But 
men are afraid to venture; and hang upon the 
coast, and explore lagoons, or swing at anchor 
in wind-sheltered bays. Some men put their 
keel into riches, some into sensuous pleasures, 
some into friendship ; and all these are shallow 
for anything that draws as deep as does the 
human soul. God's work in each age, indicated 
by the great movements of his providence, is the 
only thing deep enough for the heart. We 
ought to begin life as at the source of a river, 
growing deeper every league to the sea ; whereas, 
in fact, thousands are like men who enter the 
mouths of rivers and sail upward, finding less 
and less water every day, and in old age they lie 
shrunk and gaping on the sand." 

I know how easily bad habits are formed, and 
I know their power. In the East they tell the 
story of a prince who laid himself to rest within 
a cave. He watched a spider spin his web across 
the narrow entrance. Once, and again, and again 
the spider passed, and each time left a tiny cord. 
So he went on with his work, and the prince 
watched until the entrance seemed closed by the 
silvery web. Rested by his repose, the prince 



76 my mother's bible 

awoke and arose with a smile to brush away the 
web ; but as he slept each tiny cord had turned 
to steel. No power of his could break a single 
thread, and he turns back to his cave to die. 
Thus, in Eastern imagery, is told the strength 
of the chain which habits weave. Beware of the 
soft thread which leads you now! it will one 
day become a fetter of brass. Great harvests 
press close upon the heels of these sowers. " Sow 
an act and you reap a habit ; sow a habit and 
you reap a character ; sow a character and you 
reap a destiny." 

But, further, what of the crew. I began with 
a story of mutiny. When the captain of that 
vessel reached home, he was tried for man- 
slaughter, but was acquitted. All civilized na- 
tions have enacted, that mutiny upon the high 
seas shall be held as a capital crime. Alas, 
on the high seas of life there is many a mutiny ! 
Which is it, my friend, for you? Will you 
pace the quarter-deck as master, or go below 
in irons lashed by the crew? Before God 1 
fear some of you are already prisoners ! Your 
habits have mastered you. There's mutiny ! 
The hatches are down. You are a prisoner on 
your own craft. The flag with skull and cross- 
bones is at the masthead, and the mutineers are 
taking you, God only knows where. Has 
Samson yet power enough to snap the cords ? 



life's voyage 77 

You know the evil habit which is strongest. 
Have at it ! before it carries you off with taunt 
and sneer, a blind prisoner to grind forever in 
the prison-house of your enemies. 

Finally, it is for you to say whether the hands 
that lift the sails of your craft shall be the 
hands of greed and selfishness, or helpful, lov- 
ing hands ; whether your habits shall be such as 
will help you on your voyage as an obedient 
crew, or whether they will take you where they 
will. If your motives and habits shall be of the 
first kind, it will be written over your stranded 
soul, " Thy rowers have brought thee into great 
waters, the east wind hath broken thee in the 
midst of the sea ; " if they are of the second kind, 
a helpful crew shall bring you, with saintly fel- 
low-voyagers, full-cargoed into port, and the 
trumpets of God shall sound for you on the 
farther shore. 



Ill 

PILOTS AND CHARTS 



It will make comparatively little difference 
whether you send your cargo to sea in schooner, 
bark, brig, or ship ; but it will make all differ- 
ence in the world how you steer your vessel 
when once it is afloat. The rock which sinks 



78 my mother's bible 

the schooner will also wreck the stately ship. 
By so much as you are deeply freighted, by so 
much will your danger increase, if you try the 
shallow waters which gleam in sunny bays. 

There are so many who believe that the 
direction of life's voyage is to be settled by the 
choice of vocation, that it becomes necessary for 
me to speak of that matter before I address 
myself to another phase of my theme, which is 
to me of more vital importance. A large num- 
ber here have reached the time when they must 
settle the question of school or business, trade 
or profession. Before you settle that question, 
let me remind you that it is not the profession 
which honors the man, but the man who gives 
dignity to the profession. It is useless and 
wicked to create caste in society on the ground 
of occupation. The true man does not measure 
others by the texture of coat, or ease of occupa- 
tion. The man who shaves faces may be quite 
as honorable as the man who shaves notes ; and 
a blacksmith's hammer in the hand of a strong, 
true man, is better than a yardstick in the 
hands of fashion's slave. George Peabody was 
as much a man when he kept a grocery store in 
Massachusetts, as when, the most prominent 
banker in London, he had the entrance of the 
royal palace. 

Having divested ourselves of the idea that 



life's voyage 79 

employments are of themselves high or low, 
good or bad, we are prepared to consider what 
ours shall be. My first rule is, choose that for 
which you are by nature best fitted. Sydney 
Smith said, "Be what nature intended you for, 
and you will succeed; be anything else, and 
you will be ten thousand times worse than 
nothing. If you choose to represent the various 
parts in life by holes in a table, of different 
shapes, — some circular, some triangular, some 
square, some oblong, — and the persons acting 
these parts, by bits of wood of different shapes, 
we shall generally find that the triangular 
person has got into the square hole, the oblong 
into the triangular, while the square person 
has squeezed himself into the round hole." 
You, then, will not choose an occupation simply 
because it was your father's. If John Adams 
had done that, he would have been a shoemaker, 
instead of President of the United States. Let 
your natural bent assert itself. If you love 
mechanics, put your whole soul into it, and 
become as proficient as Stephenson or Edison. 
Homer and Virgil sang the brave story of arms 
and men ; in the new epic, tools will take the 
places of arms. If your tastes are literary, be a 
student ; if you have no fitness or liking for 
letters, but only enjoy business, enter such a life 
without fear or question. It is a great blessing 



80 my mother's bible 

to be born with a liking for some particular 
pursuit. Thus a man's employment will also 
furnish him enjoyment. If one has no special 
preference, he must then settle the question of 
occupation according to the indications with 
which circumstances surround, him. 

My second rule is, choose with your future in 
mind. Many take some temporary employment 
that promises nothing more, simply because 
they can get a few more cents to-day, while 
another, choosing more wisely, takes that which 
pays less now, but which is helping him onward 
to a sure competency in the future. The first 
man finds himself in middle-life with nothing be- 
fore him but the old weary round, and no hope of 
bettering himself. He sees too late the folly of 
his early choice. There are other rules of choice 
which I would gladly enlarge upon, but I can 
only name two in passing. Choose that busi- 
ness which promises to give you the greatest 
opportunity for development in all helpful ways ; 
and again, choose that which will offer fewest 
temptations to evil along lines where you know 
yourself to be especially susceptible. Having 
chosen your occupation, work hard and mix 
brains with your work. Matthews relates, that 
when William Gray, our celebrated Boston 
merchant, reproved a mechanic for some slovenly 
work, the latter, who had known Mr. Gray 



life's voyage 81 

when he was in humble position, replied, "I 
sha'n't stand such words from you. Why, I 
recollect when you were nothing but a drummer 
in a regiment." — "And so I was," said Gray; 
" but didn't I drum well f " 

Important as is the choice of a profession, I 
have something of greater importance to present 
to you : — 

"All the world's a stage, 
And all the men and women merely players." 

In an important sense we do not choose our 
parts, and we play them but a little time. Our 
duty is simply to play them well. The hour is 
hastening when we shall be measured, not by 
what we have done as lawyers, or merchants, or 
mechanics, but by our worth as men and women. 
The great question, therefore, is not what shall 
I do, but what shall I be f 

The mere matters of trade and wealth in men 
of past ages are all forgotten. Their crafts were 
hull-down long ago. We see now the men who 
sailed the past, only by the uplift of their sails 
toward heaven. Over what you had, your heirs 
may quarrel; over what you were, the world 
may rejoice for a hundred generations. 

Since the direction of one's life-voyage is not 
settled merely by his business, the question 
comes, Who shall be the pilot? 



82 



There are many pilots who beckon to you as 
you sail. Self-interest offers itself ; and some, 
like Aaron Burr, have tried it. Pleasure, too, 
is on the lists ; and many a man, like Chesterfield, 
has put the tiller into her hand. Ambition sails 
away with many a noble vessel, as it sailed with 
Wolsey and Webster. There are also some 
friends of yours, who have made shipwreck of 
their own lives, who volunteer to pilot you. Of 
such beware ! My father taught me long ago 
that if a man could not manage his own con- 
cerns, it was not wise to risk his management 
of mine. If you were to choose a human pilot, 
there are men whose lives the world honors : to 
them I would recommend you. But the human 
hand sometimes slips at the wheel, and mortal 
strength and wisdom often fail. I have a better 
pilot than these : it is the Pilot of Gennes- 
aret. No vessel piloted by Him has ever 
grounded in shallows, or foundered in the deep. 

Before the pilot can be licensed, he must pass 
a strict examination in all the technicalities of 
seamanship, and meet successfully the practical 
tests in the exigencies of a pilot's life. He must 
have had, also, a long experience in the waters 
where he is licensed to sail. He will need to know 
the force of the tide and the way each current 
sets. All these requirements our Pilot meets. 
No vessel ever entered the port of peace that 



life's voyage 83 

was not piloted by him. Many have we seen 
who sailed away with him, and when they were 
too far away to speak to us, the look upon their 
faces said, " We are safe in port." He it was 
who piloted Joseph amid false beacons of lust 
and crime ; Daniel amid the breakers of the 
princes' wrath ; Luther amid the cyclone of 
papal power ; and he is guiding some of these, 
the gleam of whose sails lies white upon our 
vision. A great vessel was wrecked off our 
coast last year by a man who had no right to 
act as pilot. As soon as the vessel struck, he 
slipped over her side, and, cutting his boat 
adrift, rowed away and left her to her destruc- 
tion. The Devil always does that. He gets a 
man into trouble, but never helps him out. 
After he has ruined his victim, he leaves him 
to his fate. Our Pilot has promised, "I will 
never leave thee nor forsake thee." Other 
pilots misjudge the sweep and drift of tides and 
currents, he never ; for he has felt their power 
upon his own heart, and he knows their force. 

This Pilot has a Chart, and he will sail by no 
other. There have been charts many, as well 
as pilots many. The Persians, the Hindoos, 
the Chinese, as well as the nations of later 
centuries, have all had their charts. Even in 
our time new ones have not been wanting. 
Tom Paine wrote one, and asked Franklin 



84 



what he thought of it. He replied: "You are 
perhaps indebted to your religious education 
for the habits of virtue on which you pride 
yourself. Among us it is not necessary, as 
among the Hottentots, that a youth should prove 
his title to manhood by beating his mother. I 
advise you to burn this piece before it is seen 
by any other person. If men are so wicked with 
religion, what would they be without it? " 

There is a Chart where shoal waters, surging 
tides, and hidden rocks are all marked. All 
other charts need corrections from time to time, 
but this one never. No one ever found a rock 
not down in the Chart, and no one ever sailed 
safely where it had forbidden men to go. I 
have brought you the testimony of men from 
all conditions of life, and they all agree with 
Walter Scott, that " there is but one Book to 
guide men aright," and that Book I need not 
name. In the Bank of England is a book 
giving full directions as to the detection of a 
counterfeit note. When one is thrown aside as 
worthless, they say, "It will not stand the 
book." I ask, with deep anxiety, Will your 
life stand the Booh? 

The Chart and the Pilot belong togethe. 
One cannot be used without the other. I pray 
you drift no longer, exposed to false lights and 
wicked pilots. You cannot pilot yourself, for 



life's voyage 85 

you have never sailed this voyage before, and 
you will never sail this way again. If you take 
the Pilot you must give Him full direction of the 
wheel. There are some who disobey His direc- 
tions, sail into forbidden seas, and, as the ship 
founders, call for Him to take them safely out of 
their dire distress. What would you think of a 
captain who would thus act? Be honest, my 
dear young friend. Give Him the directing of 
thy life. Give it now ; give it gladly ; give it 
forever. He is the only one who knows both 
the ports of clearance and of entry, and hence the 
only one who can take thee to the end of thy voy- 
age. There are chill waters yet to ride, — rainy, 
desolate seas. Breakers are booming along the 
shores of time, and somewhere, beyond their 
white crests, are the dark waters which men call 
death. Study well the Chart, and forget not 
Him who will be the Pilot of thy soul. 



IV 

WINDS AND TIDES 



The theory is held by many, that one's suc- 
cess in life is settled by birth, health, and sur- 
roundings. If these are propitious, be thankful ; 
if they are against you, be resigned. These per- 



86 



sons are fatalists of the most pronounced type. 
What is to happen will happen ; and, be it good 
or bad, that is your "luck." While I do not 
deny the force of circumstances in moulding life 
and character, I still hold that, — 

" In the reproof of chance 
Lies the true proof of men." 

In the voyage of life, head winds are better than 
a calm, and often better, in the end, than fair 
winds. 

One of the first lessons in navigation is to 
learn how to set and trim the sails to gain the 
greatest speed. Another lesson is how to take 
advantage of the tides that are forever putting 
spurs to, or brakes upon, the vessel as she sails. 
Gibbon has well said, " The winds and the waves 
are always on the side of the ablest navigator." 
In the world's great race, it is often the man who 
seems handicapped at the start who wins at last. 
The rich men of Boston to-day are, for the most 
part, the young men who came to this city thirty 
or forty years ago, bringing their only capital 
with them. Very princes in courage and pov- 
erty. It is the man who wears homespun in 
youth, who wears broadcloth in age. It is the 
poor and unknown who climb to the seats of the 
rich, the wise, and the good. To these, difficul- 
ties become the source of miracles, and poverty 



life's voyage 87 

is but the "piercing of the maiden's ear that 
jewels may glitter there." It is an impressive 
commentary on city life, that but few of those 
who fill the important positions in our city were 
born within its limits or enjoyed its educational 
advantages. It is the boy who walked four 
miles to school in summer heat and winter cold, 
who mounts to the topmost rung of the ladder. 
We find this exemplified in the great men 
whose history we study with profit, and whose 
example we do well to imitate. It is but a 
hundred years since Franklin walked these very 
streets, possessed of wealth and reputation, where 
once he had walked poor and unknown. " Time 
and I against any two " was the maxim of Cardi- 
nal Mazarin. " Obstacles," says Michelet, " are 
great incentives." Our souls are awed by 
Beethoven's oratorios, but do you know he was 
too deaf to hear them himself ? The grandest 
descriptions of place and circumstance were 
written by the blind Milton. He did his great- 
est work when he was poor, sick, old, blind, slan- 
dered, and persecuted. Many a man, by nature 
a good speaker, because of his ease of produc- 
tion has lived unknown, while a tongue-tied 
Demosthenes becomes, by struggle, the greatest 
orator of the world. Disraeli fails ; but as he 
retires from the House of Commons, amid laugh- 
ter and sneers, he cries, " They shall hear me 



88 my mother's bible 

yet ; " and they did. Even prisons have been 
the fruitful mother of the greatest intellectual 
efforts. There Boetius, and Grotius, Raleigh, 
Luther, and Bunyan wrote their matchless 
works. Shelley has said of poets : — 

" Most wretched men are cradled into poetry by wrong : 
They learn in suffering what they teach in song." 

Schiller wrote his tragedies under the torments 
of disease. The palsy which fell upon Handel 
shook from his hand his matchless compositions, 
Israel in Egypt, Samson, and Messiah; and 
Mozart struck from his soul, in the bitterness of 
disease and debt, the melodies that make his 
name immortal. 

All these but relate to those transitory strug- 
gles and successes which soon pass out of sight, 
but the principles I have set forth are as widely 
applicable in that sphere of action which is co- 
extensive with the soul's life. Head winds on 
every sea are right for royal sails. " No man is 
more miserable than he that hath no adversity. 
That man is not tried whether he be good or 
bad ; and God never crowns those virtues which 
are only faculties and dispositions, but every act 
of virtue is an ingredient into reward." 

We say to ourselves, that if we only had wind 
and tide with us in life's voyage, we would make 
great progress. But alas, those are the men who 



life's voyage 89 

tie the wheel and go below ! They call down 
the lookout, they forget the chart, and are 
aroused too late, by the booming of the surf, to 
find they have passed, in their carelessness, the 
narrow entrance into port, and are on the rocks. 
Not so the man who contests every inch of the 
way against opposing winds and tides, — who 
stands ceaseless guard at the wheel, and must 
trim his sails and change his course to take every 
advantage of breeze and current. " Why wasn't 
I born rich and talented," do you ask? " Why 
have I had the discipline of sickness and fail- 
ure ? " It's a part of the plan of the Father to 
save your soul. Some of you would have been 
in prison to-night, your proud ship an everlast- 
ing wreck on the shores of the lost, if God had 
not sent the waves of trouble to buffet your 
soul. The manner of our voyage is less impor- 
tant than its result. Happy for us if we can 
say at last, 

"Safe home! safe home in port, 
Rent cordage, shattered deck, 
Torn sails, provision short, 
And only not a wreck." 

Our head winds keep us from entering many 
ports on this side of the sea which we would 
gladly enter. We sought to do it, but were not 
able. Storms closed the ports of wealth and am- 



90 my mother's bible 

bition against us. It was these which led us to 
turn our prows from rock and shoal, and put 
with God to sea. What strange head winds have 
buffeted those who in all the world's history 
have brought the grandest cargoes into port. 
Yonder is Joseph in prison. Surely, God has 
forgotten to be just. Read on! before you 
finish the story you will see it was his troubles 
which led him to a throne, and for every tear he 
shed hung a jewel on his neck. In the simple 
days, when he watched his father's sheep, David 
kept his integrity. When he fled before the 
cruel Saul and slept in mountain fastnesses, he 
had the witness that his ways pleased God. It 
was when the storm was over, his enemies con- 
quered, and a crown on his head, that he was 
tempted and fell. When we get into port we 
shall thank God quite as much for our sorrows 
as for our joys. 

We are not all buffeted by the same winds, 
nor swept back by the same tides. May I ask 
you to give a helping hand to those against 
whom fierce tides set? You may find yourself 
adrift at another point. This man has a fierce 
appetite for drink ; you have no desire for it, 
but there may be other desires as sinful, and 
other passions as evil, which surge through your 
soul. If you have smooth seas to-day you will 
need a good look-out. You may outsail your 



life's voyage 91 

brother ; but beware ! around that headland 
another tide may set to take you from your 
course. 

Some men have to struggle harder to keep 
out of jail than other men would to be saints. 
Faithfulness on the part of such will bring 
sainthood at last. I have noticed birds upon 
the water cannot rise save against the wind. 
So only against natural desires and tendencies 
do souls find the upper air. We rise by the 
things we oppose and conquer, — by what we 
put under our feet. 

But, finally, I have been talking very largely 
of those trials — winds and tides — which all 
men know. But there are times when the 
heavens grow black, when the lightnings hold 
their torches among the shrouds, when the 
rigging is splashed with foam, when every 
white wave seems the yawning of frothy jaws, 
and the thunders are the firing of awful artillery 
over the graves of the lost. The hands that 
might have reefed the sails are frozen in the 
rigging, and Despair, with stony face, is watch- 
ing for the last wave to roll over you. Have 
you ever been out in such a night, and in such 
company ? 

When, as the Psalmist has it, " You reel to 
and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and 
are at your wits' end," something has to be 



92 my mother's bible 

done. What ? Why, only one thing. All 
sailors believe in God. " Then they cry unto 
the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth them 
out of their distresses. He maketh the storm 
a calm." In such an hour, look to the Pilot of 
Galilee, and trust all with Him. 

" Trusting the one great Pilot of the deep 
To be for aye my tender, low-voiced Guide, 
I look aloft to Him and say, 
Though tossed upon life's ocean wide, 
All's well, all's well! By day or night, all's well! ,, 

What manner of man is this, that even the 
winds and the sea obey him ? He is the safe 
Pilot of whom I have spoken. Ah ! the joy of 
his presence, my friend. 

" When His steps were on the mighty waters, 

When He went with trembling heart through nights of pain 

and loss, 
His smile was sweeter and His love more dear, 
And only heaven is better than to walk 
With Christ at midnight over moonless seas." 

I want you to win by noble struggle in this 
world ; but I want you, by the help of God, to 
make your grandest struggle over adverse cir- 
cumstances and over the tides of evil nature. 
The reward is in proportion to the struggle. 
Don't shrink from it : — 

" To him who suffering ne'er has known 
There is a joy not yet begun, 
Who, finding Christ within the storm, 
Shall come out in the morning sun." 



life's voyage 93 

I have spoken to the discouraged, for I find 
that these may be among the young as well as 
among the middle-aged or old. I know there 
are many things in your life which you would 
gladly have otherwise, but their help or injury 
to you will depend upon the spirit in which you 
meet them. Then meet them with a strong, 
brave spirit, and they shall all help in the de- 
velopment of a noble manhood. 

. " What matter how the winds may blow, 
Or blow they east or blow they west ; 
What reck I how the tides may flow, 

Since ebb or flood alike is best. 
I steadfast toward the haven sail 
That lies perhaps not far away." 



"WRECKS AND WRECKERS 

To one whom business or pleasure takes 
along our coast, the weather-beaten ribs of the 
vessel long stranded, protruding from the sand 
like some gigantic skeleton of a prehistoric age, 
is a familiar sight. Remains of sloop, ship, and 
steamer lie side by side. The aroma of spices 
is not yet gone from the soaked timbers of the 
East Indian, and traces of former magnificence 



94 my mother's bible 

remain in some stray carving from the steamer's 
cabin. I never lean against such a hulk that I 
do not feel almost as if I stood in the presence 
of a sentient being, beholding a mute appeal 
for sympathy and aid. It is a sad but interest- 
ing study to look over the records of these 
wrecks. What stories they could tell us of 
bravery and despair ! What groans the tides 
still awaken in their hollow breasts ! But our 
sadness deepens as the words of Irving come 
to us. "But where, thought I, are the crew? 
Their struggle has long been over. They have 
gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. 
Their bones lie whitening among the caverns of 
the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, 
have closed over them, and no one can tell the 
story of their end." It may be no one knows 
what wreck this is ; and all that was ever known 
of her was, that she sailed from port and was 
never heard of again. Such was the case with 
the ill-fated President, the Pacific, and scores of 
others which foundered in some awful sea, or 
were sunk in collision, no one escaping to tell 
the fearful story. We have but little idea how 
many lives are lost upon the sea. Gloucester 
and Marblehead, New Bedford and Province- 
town, could tell of something of that. More 
fishermen are lost every year than the British 
lost during the great wars which grew out of 
the French Revolution. 



life's voyage 95 

In this century there have been more than 
five hundred great shipwrecks of English and 
American vessels, with an average loss of two 
hundred lives in each case. One hundred thou- 
sand watery graves ! and this only a small part 
of the total number of losses at sea. In 1812 
the St. George went down with two thousand 
souls on board. Later in the century, the 
Atheneum was lost with three hundred and 
forty -seven lives ; the iEneas, with three hun- 
dred and forty ; the Minotaur, with three hun- 
dred and sixty. The President sailed from our 
shores in 1841, and was never heard from. It 
had seven hundred names on its lists of passen- 
gers and crew. The Birkenhead went down 
with four hundred and fifty men ; the Yankee 
Blade, with seven hundred and eighty-five ; the 
Arctic, with five hundred and sixty-two. The 
Central America was burned at sea with a loss of 
five hundred and twenty-six lives. The Austria, 
also, made a holocaust of four hundred and 
seventy-one victims upon her burning decks. 
The Britannia carried six hundred to a watery 
grave ; the Atlantic followed, with five hundred 
and sixty-three, and the Asia with eight hun- 
dred and twenty-one. Such a graveyard is the 
sea, and the whitened hulks along its shores are 
the only memorials of thousands who sleep in 
its depths. Who can number the mighty host 



96 my mother's bible 

which shall arise from wave-swept beds and 
coral caves in the day when the sea shall give 
up its dead ? 

These sad facts suggest thoughts to us of the 
more fearful wreckage which lines the shores of 
time. Frail bark and stately ship are there, 
and the cries which forever sound through their 
spent cordage and broken sides are the cries of 
the lost. If our friends went down at sea we 
comforted ourselves with the thought that the 
path to heaven was just as short as from the land. 
Many a song of triumph has floated up to God 
from the decks of doomed vessels. As an Eng- 
lish vessel went down in the Bay of Biscay the 
last boatload to sail away heard those who re- 
mained singing, " Jesus, lover of my soul." But, 
alas, no cry of hope, nor song of faith, ever arises 
from those wrecks which we are now to consider. 

There is a class of men, less numerous than 
they use to be, who are called wreckers. They 
live along dangerous coasts, and whenever a 
vessel is discovered in darkness or stress of 
weather, they show false lights and signal help, 
hoping thus to lure the unfortunate ship to its 
fate. If their purpose is accomplished they 
plunder both passengers and crew, as well as 
the vessel. So under guise of help they riot 
and destroy. They take advantage of one's 
necessities to work his ruin. I can think of no 



life's voyage 97 

class of men more to be detested, and no kind 
of action more diabolical. I want to raise my 
voice to-night against those moral wreckers who 
ply their awful business in our very midst. The 
church is the only life-saving station along this 
dangerous shore, and its business is to watch 
for shipwrecked men. I shall be glad if God 
will use me to snatch any soul away from these 
wreckers ; to cheat devils and the devilish of 
their prey, and lead back to virtue and to home 
some son or daughter for whom a father's prayers 
and a mother's tears have been poured forth 
without stint. Let me warn you now of the 
headlands and reefs where these wreckers lie in 
wait for you, that you do not venture near 
them. 

1. The first reef I shall name is covered with 
the bones of mariners and the sad wreckage of 
happy homes. The great Tamerlane is said to 
have built a pyramid of 160,000 skulls taken 
from those whom he had destroyed or captured 
in battle. Of those who have been lured to 
their destruction on the reef of Appetite we 
could build a Mont Blanc. I said that a hun- 
dred thousand people had been lost in the great 
shipwrecks of a century, but eighty thousand of 
our own kindred are buried around this one reef 
every year. Some of the noblest vessels ever 
launched go to pieces here. Great poets, states- 



98 MY mother's bible 

men, generals, lawyers, and even ministers, have 
been wrecked here, with thousands from the 
common walks of life. From such wrecks no 
cargo is ever saved. If the sailor escapes alive, 
he is no comfort to his friends or help to the 
world. The strong man has become a slave, the 
rich man a pauper ; the kind husband and father 
a cruel wretch, and society can only hope for 
his speedy death. In the name of justice, and 
in behalf of thousands of broken hearts, I ask, 
What shall be done with these wreckers of soci- 
ety, — with these men who take our boys in the 
strength of their early manhood, with high pur- 
pose marked on their brows, and the gleam of 
great hopes in their eyes, and in the place of 
these give us back drivelling sots, without health, 
purpose, or hope? What shall Ave do with such 
men ? I will tell you what we now do with 
them. As our brave boys and sweet girls sail out 
of the harbor and into the storm we turn to these 
wreckers and we say, " You may lie in wait for 
them by yonder reef. For a thousand dollars 
you may kindle your red lights and lure them to 
destruction. We love them, but if you will pay 
for it you may destroy them." Brothers of the 
Church of Christ, will you be partners in such 
an agreement as that? Shame upon us if we 
ever again give our license to such a shame- 
less traffic in souls. My brave mariner, sail not 



99 



in sight of this reef ; let no glare of false beacon 
tempt thee from thy course. 

2. There is another headland, the home of 
Sirens. Their victims may be out of sight, but 
they are many. A warning voice comes from the 
wise man's lips, " Let not thine heart decline to 
her ways, go not astray in her paths. For she 
hath cast down many wounded: yea, many 
strong men have been slain by her." The fetters 
which passion forges are as strong as those of ap- 
petite ; and its evils, though more insidious and 
secret, are not less terrible in their results. I 
have quite as much hope of the drunkard as of 
the libertine or the impure. The approach to 
this dangerous headland is through the narrows 
of impure thoughts. It is the thought which 
precedes both the word and the act. Remember 
to " keep thy heart with all diligence, for out of 
it are the issues of life." Do not harbor an un- 
clean thought, any more than you would speak 
an unclean word in the presence of mother or 
sister. Men and women of unholy lives are 
playing the part of the Sirens daily among us. 
They should cry as they walk, like lepers 
of old, " Unclean ! unclean ! " They lead our 
boys and girls to destruction. They fasten 
the fearful punishment upon the victim, while 
the cause goes free. The innocent are dragged 
away and left to die, neglected and alone ; 



100 my mother's bible 

or spurned by her own, she madly seeks the 
end, — 

" One more unfortunate, 
Rashly importunate, 
Gone to her death." 

For this ruin there is but one preventive. 

In classical story we read that Ulysses, pass- 
ing the island of the Sirens, put wax in the ears 
of his crew, and ordered himself bound to the 
mast, in order that he and his crew might not 
be charmed to their death by the Sirens. So 
they passed in safety because they did not hear. 
It chanced that Orpheus, the sweetest of sing- 
ers, passed that way with his crew. When the 
Sirens sang he made sweeter melody, and their 
charm was broken. Let the melod}^ of the pure 
and holy reach thy heart and thou art safe. 
Take Him as thy companion " who giveth songs 
in the night," and remember how he said, 
" Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
see God." 

3. Near this headland is a bar where wrecks 
are many. I shall call it impure reading. At 
another time I shall speak more at length upon 
this danger. It costs a hundred dollars for a 
first-class fare to Liverpool, and takes a week to 
make the journey ; but many a boy has purchased 
for ten cents a book or paper that warrants him 



life's voyage 101 

quick passage to destruction. Uncleanness, 
falsehood, murder, are all in these papers. It is 
only a few months since I passed an old tomb 
in the country where a band of boys, whose 
minds had become influenced by such reading, 
were accustomed to meet and plan their wicked 
adventures. This very week a broken-hearted 
mother told me in my study that her son, 
who had committed a state-prison crime, had 
been led to do it through the books he read. 

4. Another point where many make ship- 
wreck is speculation. The spirit of the age is 
one of venture. It is the gambling spirit, 
whether manifested in trade or in games of 
chance. Indeed, many so-called investments 
are games of chance of the wildest order. Tired 
of the slow ways of legitimate money-getting, 
men rush into various schemes that promise 
something for nothing. But it is true now, as 
in the days of St. Paul, they that make haste 
to be rich, " fall into temptation and a snare, and 
into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown 
men in destruction and perdition." 

I might speak of many more wrecks, — wrecks 
on the rocks of selfishness, of false ambition, of 
dishonest doubt. I would float over the wrecks 
I have named a buoy warning any mariner 
away from the places where they went down. 
In the chart of which I have spoken you will 



102 my mother's bible 

find all the dangers named, and the channel in- 
dicated by which you may reach the open sea. 

You are warned of your dangers ; do not 
make light of the warning. You remember the 
wild sea-rover who cut the bell from the Inch- 
cape Rock. In after years he sailed that way 
with vessel deeply laden. He strains his eyes 
to peer through the fog and says, — 

"Now where we are I cannot tell, 
But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell." 

It was his own hand which cut it. He laments 
his folly too late, for he drifts on, — 

" Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock, 
O Death! it is the Inchcape Rock." 

Do not neglect the warning bell which rings 
to-day in your ears. Christian, lend a hand to 
help. Not a month passes that we are not 
called to mourn over a wreck. Not a morning 
paper that does not tell the awful story of some 
brave human craft that has gone upon the 
rocks. " In the chamber over the gate " still 
sob the broken-hearted, " O Absalom, my son ! " 

"From the ages that are past, 
The voice comes like a blast, 
Over seas that wreck and drown, 
Over tumult of traffic and town, 
And from ages yet to be, 
Come the echoes back to me, 
O Absalom, my son! " 



life's voyage 103 

If you would escape the rocks, heed the facts 
of human experience, and take Christ to help 
you subdue your appetites, govern your passions, 
and sweeten your temper. Cutivate patience 
and purity, and refuse to be led astray by 
wealth, luxury, or power. 



VI 

WHAT PORT 

" And I pray that every venture 
The port of Peace may enter ; 
That safe from snag and fall, 
And Siren-haunted islet, 
And rocks, the unseen Pilot 
May guide us one and all." 



When the sails are set, the pilot on board, 
passengers and crew secured, the vessel's prow 
swung toward the outer bay, then the question 
is, What's the port? Until that question is 
settled, you know not which way to steer. Sup- 
pose the captain of a steamer should say, in an- 
swer to that question, " I haven't made up my 
mind," you would answer, " Then you have no 
business at sea." It is necessary for a man to 
decide what port he will seek, and then he must 
steer for it. He must take full advantage of 
every fair breeze. If the winds are contrary, 



104 



he must beat on his way, still keeping his eye 
upon the distant harbor, and so trimming his sails 
as to gain the utmost distance possible with 
each tack. 

If in mid-Atlantic you met a steamer sail- 
ing toward the west, and, upon your asking, 
" Whither bound ? " the captain should answer 
"Liverpool," you would shout through your 
trumpet, "You will never reach it until you 
change your course. Sail east, not west." I 
have found many who, when asked, "Whither 
bound ? " would say in substance, " I intend to 
make life here a success, and I expect to reach 
heaven at the last." And yet these very per- 
sons were widening every hour the distance 
between them and heaven, and making it im- 
possible to gain any true success in this world. 
If you want life to be a success, begin now to 
make it such. If you expect to reach the 
blessed harbor, do not fail to steer every hour 
in that direction. 

I want to call your attention to some of the 
ports which young men seek. I name first the 
one which first engages the attention of very 
many young people. To seriously weigh the 
responsibilities of this life does not enter their 
thought : they have but one goal, and that is a 
good time. President Eliot recently wrote in 
regard to Harvard, " Drunkenness has decreased 



life's voyage 105 

very decidedly. The sense of personal honor 
and of self-respect has strengthened. Public 
sentiment among students has improved. On 
the other hand, vices which are born of luxury 
and self-indulgence tend to increase." Accurate 
scholarship is incompatible with the ease of a 
good time, hence many are not scholars. To 
practise a moderate economy would interfere 
with the rides and suppers, the operas and balls, 
which form so large a part of their good time ; 
hence they are not economical, but prodigal. 
To meet with manly decision the great ques- 
tions which press them every hour for answer 
would be to stir their souls and break their rest ; 
hence these questions are never considered. 
For a good time, health, intellectual and moral 
power, are all sacrificed. I have known many 
fathers who held on their way through poverty 
and manifold discouragements, and gained by 
hard struggle under adverse circumstances that 
moral as well as physical fibre which enabled 
them to mount to the topmost round in their 
profession and in society. I have seen the sons 
of these men barely able to keep a place in 
school and college through the father's influence. 
The fathers said, " We had a hard struggle, our 
boys shall have it easier ; " and so they allowed 
them to go on in indolent ways, petted by their 
friends at home, and despised by all who love to 



106 my mother's bible 

see a noble manhood ; and at last, through their 
excesses, falling into untimely graves, mourned 
only by those whose hearts are sad over ruined 
lives. The only epitaph which could truthfully 
be written would be, "He had a good time," 
and a deeper condemnation it would be hard to 
write. 

Another young man looks around him and 
sees that wealth brings many things which he 
covets, and he makes his choice. "I mean to 
die a rich man." Well, my friend, you can do so. 
The path to wealth is straight, if thorny. Work 
early and late, have no friendships which can 
interfere with your plan or burden you with 
cost, deny yourself dress and food and comforts, 
beyond the merest necessities, and you can die 
rich. Will you pay the price ? Not every man 
who gets rich does that way ; but if you have 
not the opportunity nor ability for other endeav- 
ors, this plan is still open. But you have used 
a word which makes me tremble — die, rich ! 
Must the rich man also die ? Then whose shall 
these things be ? Two rich men were speaking 
of the death of a friend, when one asked the 
other, " How much did he leave ? " Leaning 
toward his friend he replied in a solemn whis- 
per, " He left every cent ! " Is it worth your 
while to spend your time in a pursuit which 
will send you into the world where you are to 



life's voyage 107 

spend eternity as empty-handed as you entered 
this ? Not here, even, does wealth bring happi- 
ness or comfort. The homes of the rich are 
sadder, I venture to affirm, than the homes of the 
poor. Marble palaces have no attraction for 
sweet content. In the feverish round of pleas- 
ures, and in the fierce and wicked rivalries of 
pride, there is little chance to cultivate those 
tender graces which shed beauty and perfume 
upon the home. I do not decry the possession 
of wealth if it be a means to an end; but I 
warn any mariner that he must not make that 
an object which is but a temporary incident of 
his voyage. 

Many of our young people, and those too of 
the best and brightest, have set their course 
toward the port of fame. If you simply want 
your name on the lips of men, you can easily 
gain your purpose. Guiteau and Booth accom- 
plished that with a single bullet. Be famous 
for some crime or folly, and your name will 
figure more largely in the public press than that 
of preacher, statesman, or judge. But, taking 
it for granted that you wish an honorable dis- 
tinction among your fellow-men, let me remind 
you of the exceeding brevity of all such distinc- 
tions. What of the names which were on every 
tongue thirty years ago ? Many of these men 
are yet among us, but a generation has arisen 



108 



which knows them not. The idol of the people 
must soon make way for another, and his name 
will be forgotten. The applause of men for one 
brief day is not a port worth making. When 
the voyage of life is sailed, its prizes will not 
be given on the poor basis of the shout of the 
crowd, neither will politicians nor gamblers be 
referees. 

There is another port. It is not down on the 
maps of nations. Its flag does not fly at our 
wharves, but I trust many here are sailing to- 
night with that port in view. It is the port of 
duty. You cannot afford to sail for a good 
time. You must not risk the awful dangers 
which hedge the way to the city of the rich. 
The laurel wreath of fame will fade. You are 
too brave a craft for shallow waters, your freight 
is too precious, and you were launched at too 
great a cost. I am glad that many of you are 
seeking intellectual attainments. So far from 
hindering you, I would do anything in my 
power to stimulate and assist you. But simple 
intellectual training is not enough. It is a fear- 
ful crime against manhood and womanhood to 
develop the brain to the neglect of the soul. If 
your purposes for life are right, education will 
increase your power for good ; but if your pur- 
poses are evil, education will but enlarge your 
capacity in that direction, and increase your 



life's voyage 109 

condemnation. You will see that if education 
only makes greater wickedness possible, it be- 
comes a curse rather than a blessing, both to 
society and to the individual. Horace Mann, 
the greatest educator Massachusetts has pro- 
duced, declares that something more than simple 
intellectual training is necessary. " Seek frivo- 
lous and elusive pleasures, if you will : expend 
your immortal energies upon ignoble and falla- 
cious joys, but know their end is intellectual 
imbecility and the perishing of every good that 
can ennoble or emparadise the heart. Obey if 
you will the law of the baser passions, — appe- 
tites, pride, selfishness, — but know they will 
scourge you into realms where the air is hot 
with fiery-tongued scorpions that will sting and 
torment your soul into unutterable agonies. 
But study and obey the sublimer laws on which 
the soul of man was formed, and the fulness of 
the power and the wisdom and the blessedness 
with which God has filled and lighted up this 
resplendent universe shall be yours." 

You are now in school : what will you do after 
you graduate ? Some one answers me, " I shall 
go to college." And what will you do after that ? 
"After I leave college I shall study law or 
medicine." After you have finished your pro- 
fessional studies, what ? " Then I shall choose 
some good location, aod begin the practice of my 



110 MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 

profession." What then? "I shall study to 
become a master in my profession, to gain a 
competency, and to be known as a successful 
lawyer or doctor." Yes, and what then? 
" Why, then I shall grow old and become too 
feeble to work." And then ? " Then I suppose 
I shall die, and leave what I have to others." 
What after that? "Alas, I do not know." 
You may know. How soon we have run the 
path to the grave ! If there is nothing more we 
are undone. Success is now like an old nest on 
a leafless bough from which the bird has flown. 
The noblest men of the ages have had holy 
assurance as to that which lay beyond the grave. 
That which men call death they have not con- 
sidered a barrier to their progress or the end of 
any joy. They have considered it the messenger 
sent by a kind Father to conduct them to a 
happier home and to the fulfilment of their 
hopes. To such men duty is success, and in it 
they also find pleasure, wealth, and fame. I am 
not asking you to seek some far off city whose 
walls are colored gems with gates of pearl and 
streets of gold. The port I seek for you is 
nearer. You maj r enter it any day. I have 
already named it ; I beg you seek it. Have you 
thought of some great thing ? and does the simple 
earnest living which I urge seem commonplace ? 
Let Schiller answer you : — 



life's voyage 111 

" ' What shall I do to be forever known ? ' 

Thy duty ever ! 
1 This did full many who yet sleep unknown,' — 

Oh ! never, never ! 
Thinks' t thou perchance that they remain unknown 
Whom thou knowest not ? 

By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown, 
Divine their lot." 



I have urged you to set sail, have warned you 
to choose carefully your passengers and crew, 
have told you of the safe chart and pilot, have 
hung a warning bell by the wrecks that line the 
shore, and now I leave you in the offing of the 
port of peace. 

We meet for a little on life's sea. We hail 
each other and cry, " What's your cargo ? where 
from? and whither bound?" The answer in 
each case must be, " We have untold treasures 
on board, we have sailed from a land where 
storms and shipwrecks are many, and we seek 
a city which hath foundations, whose builder and 
maker is God." We'll soon part company ; but 
if I cast anchor before you do, I want to tell the 
friends that troop down to the river-gates, that 
when last I saw you, you. were sailing for the 
heavenly port, and had on board the Chart and 
Pilot. You have many a friend there, and you 
must hear the hail which comes over the sea, 



112 my mother's bible 

" Steer this way for me." So I give you cheer. 
Hail and farewell! 



We are coining into harbor, oh, my brethren o'er the sea ! 
From the golden, golden city sound the voices of the free. 
Never heed the clouds that threaten, never heed the waves 

that come, 
Every sunset on the ocean brings us nearer to our home." 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 113 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 

IN the village of Caryae, in Laconia, was a 
temple to Diana. The maidens of the village 
were the priestesses of the goddess and called 
Caryatides. In time it came to pass that the 
Grecian columns supporting temples and other 
elaborate structures were carved to represent 
the female figure, and were also known as 
Caryatides. Doubtless David had some such 
fact in mind when he wrote : " That our daugh- 
ters may be as corner-stones polished after the 
similitude of a palace." 

Woman to-day stands priestess in the Temple 
of Humanity. The great superstructure which 
the divine Artificer is rearing rests in great de- 
gree upon her. I would be glad if any word of 
mine might be used to add strength to her arm, 
or grace to her labor, or joy to her heart. 

There are certain pillars of strength, like 
Caryatides of old, on which the temple of true 
womanhood must rest. I cannot describe or 
even name them all. I must content myself 
with calling your attention to the great columns 
which must guard the corners of that temple, 
and furnish grace and strength. 



114 



There is a sense in which the work of man and 
woman is identical. " To deal justly, to love 
mercy, and to walk humbly with God," belong 
not more to one than to the other ; and yet each 
division of humanity has something distinctively 
its own. Each is but half a sphere. It must 
be supplemented by the other in order to make a 
symmetrical whole. God so intended. "Male 
and female created he them." The mightiest 
agent in the development of a noble race is the 
home. Here the mother is queen. She has her 
work which the father cannot do ; while he has 
work for the home which she is poorly fitted to 
undertake. When either undertakes the work 
of the other a failure or a monstrosity is the 
result. I have no sympathy with the talk about 
relative superiority and inferiority. How will 
you compare a sunset and a poem, and tell which 
is superior ? How will you measure the rela- 
tive importance of air and food ? Must a night- 
ingale, sweetest of singers, insist on being rated 
by its value as an article of food ? Let the rose 
bloom on, and make the springtime glad with 
its wealth of beauty and perfume, but let it not 
seek to be measured by the standard of the 
kitchen garden. Why should a woman wish to 
be rated by the number of pounds she can lift, 
or the mobs she can sway, or the armies she can 
lead, when God intended her to sit apart on the 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 115 

throne of a holy love, and wield a sceptre before 
which all hearts should bow and do her homage ! 
If she will leave her throne, and prefers, in the 
place of queenly reverence, the poor applause 
which comes to partisan and demagogue, then 
let her not complain when she finds herself 
jostled by the crowd, and lying at last in the 
dust. If I were a star I would not seek to 
change places with the strange lights that hide 
in marsh and swamp. 

Do not imagine from this that I would set 
woman apart with nothing to do but receive the 
adoration of mankind, for as the first pillar in 
the erection of a true womanhood I place 
worthy employment. 

One far wiser than I wrote, two thousand 
years ago, " She that liveth in pleasure is dead 
while she yet liveth." Dead to the real joy of 
living, to the holiest passions which great souls 
know, to the true and tender love of a helpful 
heart. You have your life-course marked out. 
It is school for a while, and then — marriage. 
Too many regard that as the consummation, 
when it really is but the beginning of life. We 
name the period when we graduate from college, 
commencement. It takes its name from the fact 
that the candidate is now sent forth ready to 
begin his active life. I have no objection to 
one's looking forward to marriage as a possible 



116 



and desirable event, but I trust all will remem- 
ber that the real life-story is yet to be worked 
out. 

You have in your mind the ideal, if not the 
actual, young man. He must be at least of 
good appearance. He must be far above the 
average in intellectual ability. He must have 
no bad habits, and must show the breeding of a 
gentleman. If he has not wealth, he must be in 
a business or profession which promises a sure 
return for the future. I am glad you are so 
sensible as to seek for such sterling qualities; 
and you ought not to risk your happiness and 
life where many — if any — of them are want- 
ing ; but now let me ask what have you to offer 
for all this ? It is but fair that men should 
seek for an equivalent ; and if they find none, 
can you blame them for feeling that they have 
made but a sorry bargain? It would be sad 
indeed for you to feel that you had been the occa- 
sion of any man's writing as wrote Moore : — 

" My only books 
Were woman's looks, 

And folly's all they've taught me." 

At least in the matter now under considera- 
tion, that of worthy employment, each may be 
prepared to do her part. 

Every young lady ought to know how to do 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 117 

some work which could win her a support. In 
Massachusetts there are thirty thousand, and 
in Rhode Island ten thousand, more women 
than men. What are to become of what Mrs. 
Livermore calls " these superfluous women " ? 
Shall they be a burden upon friends or upon the 
state? or will they learn some employment 
which will make them useful instead of being a 
burden ? This the noblest women of antiquity 
did. Csesar used to say with pride, that his 
imperial robes were wrought by the deft ringers 
of his wife and daughters. Alexander told the 
mother of Darius that his garments were woven 
by his sisters. Lucretia instructed her maidens 
at the wheel. Mix brains with your work, and 
the kitchen may be as honorable and remunera- 
tive as any place. When Vanderbilt pays ten 
thousand dollars to a Frenchman to direct his 
cuisine, we cannot say that it does not pay to 
know how to cook. 

Art, music, and literature hold open doors 
before the women of America. How sad to see 
young women of to-day, gloriously gifted, 
standing in our highest walks of life empty- 
handed. To dress for dinner, to dress for the 
ball or opera, to learn the mysteries of the 
druggist's art for her own complexion, and of 
the milliner's art for her own apparel, is the sub- 
stance of her acquirements. What a waste of 



118 my mother's bible 

capacity ! But I must not talk of the wealthy 
alone. There are those in Boston whose 
fathers are not worth five thousand dollars 
who seek to be pampered, and indulged in idle- 
ness. They could not make the bread they eat ; 
and yet they wonder why all the young men in 
town are not at their feet ; and, worse yet, mothers 
and fathers encourage them in idleness under a 
false idea of being kind to them. Learn to do 
something well. No true womanhood was ever 
erected that had not industry as one of its 
corner-stones. St. Paul speaks of those who 
"learn to be idle, wandering about from house 
to house ; " and not only idle but busy-bodies, 
" speaking things which they ought not." The 
great preventive of gossip is proper employ- 
ment. 

I name as the second pillar of true woman- 
hood, intellectual development. I am aware that 
many excellent women have lived who were not 
educated ; but a true ambition will lead to the 
careful training of the intellectual powers, not 
simply by study, but by observation and reflec- 
tion as well. Who needs to know the laws of 
the mind more than the mother who is the 
guardian of the child's budding mental powers ? 
who needs to know helpful literature more than 
she who is to say what her children shall read ? 

How an appreciation of noble thoughts re- 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 119 

lieves toil of its drudgery, and supplies hope and 
cheer to the disheartened ! How it graces the 
fireside, and keeps the mind from preying upon 
itself and falling into premature decay. In early 
years it keeps from the sensational novel which 
unfits for life, from those amusements which 
many affect, which only dwarf the mind, and 
ruin all fine instincts, and quench all holy en- 
deavors. 

Thirdly I name unselfish service. 

This is the real essence of true womanhood 
on its human side. In the chapel of the great- 
est college for girls in New England is the 
motto, non ministrari sed ministrare. Every 
true life must come to realize soon or late that 
its mission is not to be ministered unto, but to 
minister. Many a boy has received a college 
education wrought for him by a patient mother 
and self-denying sister. Thank God there are 
such noble mothers. See their old wrinkled 
hands trembling at their work. 

"Such beautiful, beautiful hands! 
When her heart was weary and sad, 
These patient hands kept toiling on 
That her children might be glad." 

When in the night we heard a soft step, we 
said, " It is mother." When all others were in 
bed, she came to take the worn stocking or the 
torn jacket or dress. In the morning we found 



120 my mother's bible 

them ready for us, so deftly mended that one 
could hardly find the rent. 

Many a daughter has proved herself a very 
queen ; has put her own love and ambition out 
of sight, and toiled on to the end to bring joy 
and hope to some other life, or to smooth the 
rough way into the valley of death for a father 
or mother beloved. 

There are crowns in heaven for the brows of 
such. That child is fortunate who has birth in 
a home where such tender ministrations are 
about him, where he sees the law of love in its 
highest fulfilment in the life of the mother who 
rocks his cradle. 

Tennyson in The Princess speaks of such an 
one 

" Not learned, save in gracious household ways, 
Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, 
No angel, but a dearer being, all dipt 
In angel instincts, breathing Paradise, 
Interpreter between the gods and men, 
Who look'd all native to her place, and yet 
On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere 
Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce 
Sway'd to her from their orbits as they moved, 
And girdled her with music. Happy he 
"With such a mother ! faith in womankind 
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high 
Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall, 
He shall not blind his soul with clay." 

The true woman is anxious not to get out of 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 121 

her world the most she can of selfish enjoyment 
but to put into it all the honest service she can 
give. 

In the toil of life woman is to be a help- 
meet. 

" A man must ask his wife's leave to be rich," 
is an old proverb and a true one. 

William and Mary Howitt were not brother 
and sister, as many suppose, but husband and 
wife. She shared with him all his hardships, 
and helped him to all his triumphs. Such a 
helpmeet made Hood write to her, after she 
had strengthened him to labor, ministered to 
him in sickness ; comforted him in sorrow, and 
borne without complaining a sad domestic lot, 
"I never was anything, dearest, until I knew 
you ; and I have been a better, happier, and more 
prosperous man ever since. Lay by that truth 
in lavender, sweetest, and remind me of it when 
I fail." I want you, both young men and young 
ladies, to remember that the only way for you to 
grow old in the home delightfully is to be help- 
ful to each other, — to preserve that fine sense of 
kindly care which is so beautiful in brother and 
sister, and which throws a perfect charm over 
married life. 

Finally the crowning strength and glory of 
true womanhood is Christian Consecration, It 
has been so in all the ages. In Israel, Deborah 



122 



and Miriam ; in apostolic times, Lydia and Lois 
and Priscilla; in Wesley's time, Hester Ann 
Rogers, Lady Maxfield, Barbara Heck, and 
Susanna Wesley. In our time, Frances Haver- 
gal, Mrs. Phebe Palmer, Phebe Gary, and Eliza- 
beth Barrett Browning, who wrote : — 

" Not she with traitorous kiss her Master stung, 
Not she denied him with unfaithful tongue; 
She, when apostles fled, could danger brave, 
Last at his cross, and earliest at his grave !" 

Woman's power of song has been consecrated. 
Charlotte Elliott wrote, " Just as I am ; " Cath- 
erine Hankey, " I love to tell the Story ; " Mrs. 
Adams, " Nearer, my God, to Thee." Mrs. Hawks 
gave to the Church, " I need Thee every hour ; " 
and scores of our sweetest hymns have fallen 
from the pen of Frances Havergal, Mrs. Knapp, 
the Cary sisters, and Mrs. Brown, the author 
of y " I love to steal awhile away." 

Nearly two-thirds of the membership of our 
churches are women. Well says Bishop Foss, 
" When Paul started to annihilate the infant 
church with his persecutions he said, ' Write in 
not only men, but women also ; ' and in that he 
was wise, for you can never root out Chris- 
tianity anywhere until you root out the heart 
of woman as well as the brain of man." 

It should be so. All woman has she owes to 
Christ. He found her the plaything of lust ; he 



TRUE WOMANHOOD 123 

led her to her throne, and, what is better, he 
fitted her for it. I want to tell the woman who 
makes light of the homely virtues of religion and 
the sober enjoyments of a Christian faith, but 
for the Christ whom you treat as a myth out of 
the past, you would to-night be in bondage like 
the women of Bombay or Cairo, or like those 
who lived like beasts in the palace of the Tar- 
quins. Freely ye have received, freely give. 

A womanhood whose hands are filled with 
useful toil, whose brain is nourished by health- 
ful streams of life, whose ambition is not selfish 
but holy, whose entire life is dominated by a 
Christian faith, — for this I plead to-night. 

If you came expecting flippant words and 
ready wit you are disappointed. This is not 
the place for such words, and I am not the one 
to speak them. I have spoken such words as I 
shall be willing to meet when these fair faces 
are wrinkled and these bright eyes have lost 
their lustre through scalding tears ; when the 
brilliant colors have faded from the morning ; 
when the gay cavalier has had his day ; when 
the proud are forgotten, and fortune hath ex- 
alted them of low degree. 

In all this I have not been speaking from the 
books. I have been thinking of my model as I 
spoke, Not the Beatrice of Dante, the Laura of 
Petrarch, Tasso's Leonora, or Goethe's Clarchen. 



124 



I see her seated in her old place where she has 
sat for many years, and I am bound to say I 
have not laid on one color too strong. They 
tell me she was beautiful once ; that her cheeks 
were dimpled, and her brown hair thrust its wil- 
ful curls over a sweet, low forehead, in spite of 
comb and bands ; that her eyes were like the 
seas where summers lie dreaming, and that in 
all the town no hand was so white and shapely. 
Of that I never knew; for when I came to 
know her, and to set her on her throne, there 
were some wrinkles in brow and cheek, and her 
eyes had a yearning look like as of one who 
looks for ships at sea. Her dimples were gone, 
her hands bore the mark of toil. Thirty years 
have passed since then. I have watched the 
wrinkles deepen, the frosts settle on her hair. 
Her hands tremble now, and her back is bent, 
but she's my queen to-night ! For in all those 
years she has not left her throne, nor soiled the 
white robe which my baby hand threw upon her 
shoulders. Young ladies, I commend to you 
my mother's faith and my mother's God. Com- 
forted and strengthened by that faith, I pray 
that when your fair hands shall be wrinkled, and 
your feet become too feeble to stray from your 
hearthstone, that your children may rise up as I 
do now, and hold your life to the world as a 
pattern of what a true womanhood may be. 



TRUE MANHOOD 125 



TRUE MANHOOD 

T HAVE an intimate friend who was at the 
-*- head of what is perhaps the most successful 
manufacturing enterprise in Rhode Island. The 
construction of the first of those mammoth mills 
was intrusted entirely to him. The fineness of 
the finished product necessitated the most per- 
fect of appliances and construction. A foreign 
firm of great wealth put almost unlimited funds 
at his disposal, without restrictions of any kind. 
They simply held him responsible for the 
result. 

The first question which presented itself was, 
What shall the foundation be ? He listened to 
the different theories of the experts as to the 
relative merits of large and small stones and 
different cements. That one plan would have 
some advantages over the others he became sat- 
isfied ; but its cost seemed to be larger than the 
probable gain, and he had about decided to take 
the less satisfactory but cheaper foundation. 
With his mind thus exercised he fell asleep, and 
beheld in his dream the completed structure. 
The machinery was in place, the connections all 



126 



made, and the great wheel started. He took 
the head of the firm who had commissioned him, 
and went to inspect the mill where so many 
thousands of dollars had been expended. As 
he opened the door he felt the jar of machinery 
improperly connected. Pulleys and wheels 
were filling the air with discord and dropping 
out of gear. Huge cracks were seen in the 
ceiling, and the floors seemed to vibrate with 
every throb of the engine. His principal 
looked at him sternly and said, " What is the 
meaning of this ? " With shame on his face, 
my friend said, " I think it must be because the 
foundation, which I tried to build cheaply, 
has settled." — " Build cheaply ! Did I ever tell 
you to build cheaply ? " — " No, sir," — " Did I 
ever limit you as to your expenditure ? " — " No, 
sir." — " Were you not constantly supplied with 
all the means necessary to make a perfect struc- 
ture ? and did you not agree to have the best 
mill which could be constructed for our work ? " 
— " Yes, sir." — " Have I ever hindered you by 
advice or suggestion, or ever asked you to ac- 
count for or justify your expenditure ? " — " No, 
sir." — " Then you have squandered my money, 
for the mill is worthless. Have you any ex- 
cuse ? " — " None, sir, none." My friend awoke ; 
great beads of sweat were on his forehead, and 
he could hardly realize it was a dream. But in 



TRUE MANHOOD 127 

that dream he had learned a principle to which 
he attributes his great success. When those 
foundations went in they were the best in ma- 
terial and construction which the engineering 
skill of our times had produced, and every year 
justifies the toil and expenditure. 

I am face to face to-night with many souls 
who have received a commission from the King 
of kings, to rear for him a structure grander 
than ever echoed with the hum of spindle or 
roar of flying wheel, where thoughts fly swifter 
than a weaver's shuttle, and weave a fabric 
more costly than finest silk or cloth-of-gold. 
Because the only safe foundation for such a 
structure must rest deep down upon the Rock 
of Ages, and must be built by self-denial, in 
tears and sweat and struggle, some I fear have 
started to build upon the surface, where the 
sands are shifting, and where any turn in the 
tide of fortune will sweep away all foundation 
and precipitate them into helpless ruin. And 
if so, what could one say ? 

I hear the King ask, "Did I not furnish a 
foundation which standeth sure? Was not the 
material at hand with which to build? Did 
I not tell you the folly of your course? Did I 
not promise you all needed help ? Have I ever 
failed to keep my word? Did I not warn you 
at every step of your path? Have you any ex- 



128 my mother's bible 

cuse?" None! None! None! The scene 
changes. The world has gone back to the 
flames out of which it came, but the un- 
bounded plains of eternity are filled with its 
inhabitants ; this mortal life has thrown its last 
shuttle, and its finished product comes before the 
King. And as some try to enter, I seem to hear 
him say, "Friend, how comest thou in hither 
not having on a wedding garment? And he 
was speechless. " 

Most of you here are laying the foundation 
to-night. The superstructure must conform to 
the foundation. If the foundation is wrong the 
whole toil of erection is wasted, for one must 
begin again. 

You must lay a foundation strong and deep 
enough to sustain a perfected life. I have at 
other times spoken at length on the duties and 
responsibilities of young men, as such; I have 
thought it best to speak to-night in a more gen- 
eral way of the principles which underlie true 
manhood. 

First, I shall name self-knowledge. "Know 
thyself " was the wisest motto of the ancient 
oracles. What a study it is to look into one's 
physical mechanism. To see how each bone 
bears its weight, how each muscle distributes 
its tension; to watch the food until it is 
changed from chyme to chyle, and then, 



TEUE MANHOOD 129 

through lacteals and thoracic duct, finds its 
way into the blood; to trace the passage of 
sound from the tympanum to the brain ; or the 
telegraphy of light through cornea and retina 
and optic nerve. We are forced to say, 
"Strange that a harp of a thousand strings 
should keep in tune so long." Everyone 
ought to know something of his physical self. 

But more than that, one ought to know his 
intellectual capacity. Sydney Smith has said, 
" Be what nature intended you for, and you will 
succeed." Study your make-up, and take some- 
thing for a life-work where your natural incli- 
nations will help you, if possible, to make of it 
a success. " The heart giveth grace unto every 
art." If you have no aptitude for figures, don't 
try to be an accountant. If you hate study, 
don't plan for a college course. On the other 
hand, don't become a clerk to stand forever 
behind a counter when all your nature is crying 
out for a broad intellectual life, and every hour 
of daily toil is irksome to you. Study yourself, 
and then choose your life-work the best you can 
with the limitations that surround you. 

But as you open the physical and intellectual 
doors of your being, don't forget that there is 
within a holy of holies. You can never be sat- 
isfied with your spiritual wants unappeased. 
There is a voice within calling you to a higher 



130 



life than either physical or intellectual enjoy- 
ment. You may call that higher life by any 
name you choose. Let it be character if it suits 
you better. Have you ever thought how pre- 
cious a thing it is, and how easily lost? St. 
Peter's was years in building, and exercised the 
brain and brawn of the wisest and most skilful 
men; but a torch in the hand of a child would 
accomplish its destruction in an hour. It takes 
a lifetime to weave a noble character ; but if the 
shuttle halts but once, it mars its beauty forever. 
One leak, and the vessel sinks. One stab, and 
the life flows out. One speck upon the fair 
exterior is taken as the index of the corruption 
working within. Keep constant guard, chal- 
lenge every passing thought. Add together 
these physical, intellectual, and spiritual forces, 
and the sum is thyself. 

Created with such wonderful powers, with 
thoughts that outleap the sun, with a mind 
that shackles all the universe into iron traces, 
with a soul which mirrors God, and is the arena 
where contend forces which angels do not ken, 
— with all these things our own, how shall we 
live to repay good interest on such a mighty 
investment ? Shall I sell myself for gold, or hide 
away in selfish pleasure? Shall I spend my 
strength as a trickster, and sport with pride the 
cap and bells of my shame? Shall we thus 



TRUE MANHOOD 131 

" play the fools with time, and the spirits of the 
wise sit in the clouds and mock us" Know, 
then, thyself so well that thou wilt know thy 
powers, thy mission, and thy destiny. 

This knowledge will bring men to a second 
characteristic of true manhood — self-respect. 
Every man ought to live so that his motives 
as well as his aoilities shall lead him to respect 
himself. One never journeys so far that he 
takes not himself as fellow-traveller. If that 
higher self which is the voice of God in us shall 
whisper, "Well done! " it will matter little 
what the voices of men may be. 

" One self-approving hour whole years outweighs 
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas; 
And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels 
Than Csesar with a senate at his heels." 

Again, every young man ought to have such 
respect for his own individuality as to preserve 
it. Do not be content to be simply one in the 
crowd. Measured by their possibilities, most 
of people are poor and ignorant and incapable. 
There was a germ of truth in the ill-natured 
arraignment of Englishmen by Carlyle, "A 
race of forty millions — mostly fools." It is 
because men are not at their best that knowl- 
edge and capacity are at a premium. Do not 
assign as the reason of any folly on your part, 



132 my mother's bible 

"They all do it." If that is true, it is reason 
why you should keep out of it. There is some- 
thing better for you than mediocrity. Never 
allow your ambition to fall to so low a plane. 
Your relative worth depends upon the points of 
excellence you possess, which the crowd has not. 
If you are desired to enter any home, it will be 
because of these qualities. If you are content 
to take one as your own companion for life who 
is lifted in no way above mediocrity, you can 
doubtless find someone who will take you, 
for the silly, like the poor, we have always 
with us, but I say to you, as I said to the 
young ladies, if you desire someone who shall 
be gifted and fair, true-hearted and noble, the 
question arises, What have you to give in re- 
turn ? I know the dash of the fast young man. 
He driveth furiously. Beware of him! I know 
an upas-tree — poison falls from its leaves, 
apples of Sodom are on its boughs. Rest not in 
its shade ! 

Respect of self carries with it respect for 
others. You see it in the true husband toward 
his wife, making it no longer possible to tell 
how long a couple have been married by the 
inattention he gives. Mutual respect is the 
keystone of the arch in a happy home. You see 
it between parents and children. Each child 
has his rights, which are respected, and he 



TRUE MANHOOD 133 

comes unconsciously to the same high plane of 
thought and life. 

" This above all: to thine own self be true, 
And it must follow as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man." 

I can name but one other secret of true 
manhood, and that is self-government. You 
rule a kingdom greater than Caesar's. See that 
you rule it well. You will need to wave the 
sceptre of authority at the portal of your lips. 
A hasty word in an hour of passion has ruined 
many a man's life, and broken other hearts as 
well. When once the word is sped, it is too 
late to call it back. 

" Boys flying kites haul in their white- winged birds. 
You can't do that way when you're flying words." 

Guard closely at the gates of sight ; for there 
are sights which blister the eyes, and once seen, 
burn in the soul forever. So will you need to keep 
guard along every avenue where an enemy may 
approach, that you do not find yourself deposed, 
and an enemy seated upon your throne. If you 
say some bad things have already entered and 
become habits, I ask in all earnestness, Will you 
rule, or be ruled ? I am not saying that every 
indulgence of a foolish appetite keeps a man out 
of heaven ; but I do say, what folly ! I do say, 
before God, that if a foaming cup had bound me 



134 my mother's bible 

to it, by His help I would break the bond. I 
do say, that if the burning of a twisted leaf had 
made me a slave, I would break my fetters. If 
certain pasteboard slips had made me neglect 
my business, squander my time, and unnerve 
me for holy duties, I would settle it, on my 
knees if necessary, which of us twain was 
master. Give up the thing, whatever it be, 
which fetters you. True manhood must not be 
the slave of anything. 

Finally, this self-government must be exer- 
cised for the glory of God, as well as for our own 
advantage, and the help of others. Have I set 
a hard way before you ? It is the way where all 
the holy have walked, over whose narrow street 
the saints in endless procession go. I could 
show you another way, where they walk whose 
feet take hold on death, " and many there be 
that go in thereat." I have shown you the 
way of cross, but of crown. Last week I tried 
to give to the young ladies such advice as 
would fit them for the opportunities and re- 
sponsibilities into which they are to enter. 
I was glad that I had a model, as I spoke, and 
that I could pay a tribute out of my heart 
to a mother's love and life. I am glad to- 
night to pay a debt I owe to him who for 
these thirty years I have called father. He was 
of sterner mould, anxious and meditative, but 



TRUE MANHOOD 135 

not less true-hearted and self-denying than 
she who leaned upon him. I remember how his 
broad shoulders held me in the days of child- 
hood. How he carried me up to bed, and lis- 
tened reverently to my little prayer, and 
covered me so gently, and stopped in the door 
to look back for a moment, as he said " Good- 
night." I have heard the angry winds and the 
pouring rain on the roof at dead of night, and 
started with fright; and then I remembered 
father, and fell asleep content. On his shoul- 
ders my cares were placed, and to this day his 
stiff limbs will unlimber to do a service to his 
son. He had no habits which his sons might 
not pattern after to their profit, and in all these 
years I never heard a word or saw an action 
which was not Christian; and though in public 
life and employing many hands, no one ever 
felt that he had wronged them, though in deal- 
ing thus he had doubtless wronged himself. I 
never knew of any one who was so much alone 
with God as he. To this day when we hear a 
low murmur at home we say, "It is father at 
prayer." There is nothing this side of heaven 
more heavenly than a Christian home, and it is 
my prayer that these two addresses may help to 
form such characters as have blessed my home. 
There they are together. Fifty-four years and 
more, they have walked hand in hand. They 



136 my mother's bible 

have been "father and mother" to each other 
for many years, and their care for each other is 
touching. Mother takes me one side and whis- 
pers, " I think father is failing, he gets tired so 
easily ; but he won't let me do anything for him. " 
And father asks me into another room, and says, 
"Don't you think mother has failed since you 
were here? Her hand trembles so, and she's 
rather forgetful ; but she won't let me help her." 
And then he goes back to her, and they sit there 
together. The same love-light in their eyes that 
has shone there for fifty years, purer and stead- 
ier now than ever. I can't help feeling, as 
they kneel hand in hand for evening prayer, 
that that is True Manhood and True Woman- 
hood. I pray that you, my dear young people, 
may have such a home, and that your children 
may rise up and call you blessed. 



WHAT WE READ 137 



WHAT WE READ 

T I ^HE importance upon character of the read- 
-*- ing of a community can hardly be over- 
estimated. The quality and amount of food 
settles largely the question of physical health. 
It is also true that the growth and character of 
the mind must be almost entirely settled by the 
quality of the pabulum from which it draws 
its life. There are public guardians against 
harmful foods. It is a crime to adulterate milk, 
flour, sugar, and other articles of food. Ought 
we not to be as careful of that out of which our 
mental life is formed? Poison in the mind is 
even more dangerous than poison in the body. 
Every father and mother is deeply interested in 
this matter, and certainly every pastor should 
be. On the shelves of our libraries are books 
which deny or neutralize all the teaching of 
the pulpit and the instruction of home; they 
make beautiful the most hideous things. Un- 
holy passions are stirred, and ambitions of the 
meanest kind are planted in the heart of the 
reader. There are hundreds of men behind 
the bars, incarcerated by the power of a vicious 
book. 



138 my mother's bible 

I have been at some pains to investigate the 
statistics of the Boston Public Libraries. The 
results I shall give, and follow them with such 
general reflections as will be, I trust, of service 
in helping you to form good habits of reading. 
In the matter of reading, Boston leads every city 
in America, and thus merits its title, the Athens 
of the New World. The circulation of books in 
public libraries in some of our leading cities is 
as follows : — 

St. Louis, 194,092; New York, 423,363; 
Baltimore, 430,217; Boston, 1,875,411. The 
census of 1885 gives Boston 305 libraries, in- 
cluding those of Sunday-schools, with 2,045,000 
books, valued at $2,235,637, and a circulation of 
2,177,318. A marked change has taken place in 
the class of reading in the last ten years. At 
that time the percentage of fiction read in our 
public libraries was about seventy per cent. The 
present classification of the Boston Public Li- 
brary includes fiction and books for the young 
in one class, so that exact figures on fiction 
cannot be given. The percentage of fiction 
would probably be between forty and forty-five. 
In order to verify these figures for New England, 
I wrote to the accomplished librarian of the 
Providence Public Library, and to Dr. William 
Rice, librarian of the Springfield Public Li- 
brary. Dr. Rice says, " There has certainly been 



WHAT WE READ 139 

an improvement here in the class of books chosen 
for general home-reading, and there is also an 
increasing use of our best books for investiga- 
tion and study on the premises. We reported 
last year that our circulation of adult fiction had 
borne a lower percentage than ever before in our 
history; namely, 49.1: we are able to report this 
year a still lower percentage, 43.4." The report 
from Providence also shows that there has been 
an uninterrupted decline for the last seven years 
in the amount of fiction read. These are 
encouraging figures. 

I was interested to learn from the Lilrariari 's 
Journal the names of the books which now 
lead the list among young people. These are, 
"Boys of '76," and "Boys of '61," by C. C. 
Coffin, and "Ben Hur"by Gen. Lew Wallace 
— each of them full of interest and in no way 
harmful. 

The power of a library in a community is 
great for good. Mr. Andrew Carnegie, when 
asked recently in what way a rich man could 
best use his wealth for the good of the commu- 
nity, replied, " By establishing a public library. " 
The tendency of good reading is elevating in a 
marked degree, and one will soon become enno- 
bled by it, or refuse longer to read it. I shall 
not be able to speak of the periodical press. 
Allow me to say that a great change has taken 



140 my mother's bible 

place in the relation of the press to the pulpit 
and church. It is only fifty years since reports 
of sermons first appeared in the daily papers of 
New York. They were then paid for at the 
same rate as advertisements. After continuing 
these payments some time, the men who had pro- 
cured their publication ceased to send the ser- 
mons. The patrons of the papers desired the 
reports continued, and the management offered 
to publish free any reports which might be 
sent. Now, paid reporters are at our services, 
and many columns are devoted to the reports of 
the Sabbath. 

Johnson, when asked who is the most miser- 
able man, replied, "He who cannot read on a 
rainy day." The man is certainly to be pitied 
who finds not rest and solace and pleasant com- 
panionship in a good book. The measure of 
your choice in books is largely your measure as 
a man. Great souls love great books. On those 
pages, the mighty deeds of the world are re- 
enacted, and the thoughts which have kindled 
the nations with holy purpose ceaselessly burn. 
Here the illustrious dead come back to dwell 
with us again, and stir our souls as once they 
stirred the thousands who now sleep with them 
in common dust. Books are the great teachers 
of men ; they bring to the present the treasures 
of the past, and put into our hands the riches of 



WHAT WE READ 141 

human experience which have been wrought out 
by throbbing brain and heart in all the centu- 
ries. I go into my study and scan the shelves. 
I behold a concourse of master minds such as 
never assembled in the flesh. Though stran- 
gers to each other, they talk with me as friends. 
Homer, Shakspeare, Milton, Pascal, Luther, 
Scott, Wordsworth, Irving, Longfellow, are all 
here and at their best. It is not enough to read. 
Some, devour intellectually everything within 
their reach, and are made no better and no wiser. 
The question is, What and How to read. Your 
teachers in school will tell you much, but some 
of you have no teachers. I often take an early 
train, and have noticed the shop-girls and their 
reading. I long to take the silly, sentimental 
books from their hands and give them something 
helpful. You are bewildered when you think of 
the question, What shall I read? Stand in our 
public library; there are 540,000 volumes. If 
you read two a week, and began at the time of 
the Flood, you would yet have a thousand years' 
work before you. And yet one of the best 
authorities says, "There are only one hundred 
great books, and less than one thousand^rs^ass 
ones." When one of the greatest of Englishmen 
was asked if he had read the latest book, he an- 
swered, "I only read the saints." I wish you 
would adopt the same plan for yourself. The 



142 MY mother's bible 

principle of associating only with the best peo- 
ple applies to books as well. With only one 
book a month, one might in a few years make 
the thorough acquaintance of the greatest minds 
the world has ever seen. He might look with 
them at the great questions of life and destiny. 
Think of taking in the refuse from the street 
when the mines of California are open! 

As to what to read, Emerson's rules are: 
1. Never read a book that is not a year old. 2. 
Never read any but famed books. 8. Never read 
any but what you like. I accept the first two 
more readily than the third. That may do for 
one after his tastes are formed. Till then, read 
what you know is best, and if you do not like 
it, keep at it until you do. You can cultivate 
a taste for reading as well as for art or music. 
Again, read works about your business. Be 
acquainted with its literature. This is the way 
to succeed. When you have done that, it will 
be time to take up such general reading as 
will keep you abreast of the times. 

The question of novel-reading is one which is 
often discussed. I am far from saying that no 
novels should be read. That would exclude 
" Ben Hur" and many of the earlier masterpieces 
of literature — even "Pilgrim's Progress." It 
makes a great difference what hind of a novel it 
is. If you ask, can you read the trashy paper- 



WHAT WE READ 143 

covered novels of our book-stalls, I answer a 
thousand times, No! Coarse feeding makes 
coarse flesh, and such reading is sure to be the 
fruitful cause of all kinds of mental ills. While 
I would not have you turn wholly from novels, 
Dr. Geikie is right in the main when he calls 
them " snow- shoe literature — large surface in 
proportion to the weight carried. Make the 
novel an indulgence and not a pursuit ; turn to 
it as a rest after work, not in the place of con- 
scientious industry, and read only the best." 

Historical reading is of great importance. I 
would advise our young people to lay a good 
foundation in English history, and then care- 
fully to study the history of their own country. 
Americans are lamentably deficient in the 
knowledge of their own history. Nothing 
would more strengthen our patriotism than to 
learn the conditions and the principles of the 
founding of our Government, and the story of 
the struggles by which that Government has been 
maintained. If you wish to know our condition 
after the Revolution, read " The Critical Period 
of American History," by Fiske. The histories 
of Parkman will give you an excellent idea of 
the early French and Indian Wars, and the set- 
tlement of our northern territory. I believe 
that no reading is more helpful in the formation 
of character than biography. Read by all 



144 my mother's bible 

means the lives of the great men in every walk 
in life. They will inspire you with great pur- 
poses, and will show you the way in which the 
wisest of men have made a success. Nothing 
is more interesting to the young than the story 
of actual life. Many a man in the last genera- 
tion will acknowledge his indebtedness to 
"Plutarch's Lives" for that high ambition 
which became a moulding factor in his life. 
I have made no list of books to recommend to 
you. If a score of men were to name the best 
ten books in our language, no two persons would 
name the same books in the same order. This 
is because no two persons will be affected pre- 
cisely the same by any book. There are many 
excellent lists which any librarian will put into 
your hands. If you are only minded to seek the 
good it is easily found. 

How to read is the next question which pre- 
sents itself. By all means have first a plan. Do 
not read hither and thither like some animal 
browsing in a field. If you read history, take 
up some epoch or some country and master it. 
Read thoroughly. Do not get the idea that 
the number of books read is the main thing. 
One book read and digested is better than a 
score which are merely skimmed. For that rea- 
son a small library is better for many people 
than a large one. Be sure you understand what 



WHAT WE READ 145 

you read. Read again and again until you are 
sure that you know the author's meaning. Do 
not accept all you read as true. Keep your fac- 
ulties aroused to honest criticism. In this way 
of reading every book has to you a marked per- 
sonality, and you will long remember and profit 
by what you have read. Do not be, then, a 
butterfly reader, flitting from flower to flower 
without aim and carrying nothing away. Do 
not be an hour-glass reader, for whom the sand 
runs out and leaves nothing behind. Be rather 
like those who toil in Brazilian mines, who 
scrutinize carefully every handful of dust, 
throwing away the refuse, but hoarding up the 
gems. Gather the gems, that you may enrich 
yourself and have much to share with others. 
Having learned from other lives the right prin- 
ciples of action, so exemplify them in your own 
life that you may bless others who are about 
you. So let your reading be a means to an 
end. 

I have given you no list of books to-night 
which you are to read to the exclusion of others ; 
but there is one book, the consideration of 
which I have of purpose reserved until this mo- 
ment. It is a book for all classes and for all 
times. It searches us out as no other book does. 
It has been the inspiration of all noble litera- 
ture, and the greatest thoughts of the greatest 



146 my mother's bible 

men have been suggested by careful perusal of 
its pages. It is the book most talked about in 
the world to-day, and you cannot afford not to 
know it most thoroughly. Though it is centu- 
ries old, the ignorance of men concerning it, 
especially of those who affect to despise it, is 
wonderful. Franklin once read in the Court of 
France a simple story from its pages, and the 
courtiers crowded around him and asked for the 
authorship of that marvellous pastoral. It was 
the Book of Ruth. I knew a man who was its 
enemy to hunt it through to find the Book of 
Hezekiah, which he affirmed he had read. 

Ruskin, the greatest master of English in this 
century, gives this double tribute to his mother 
and her Bible. "My mother forced me by 
steady daily toil to learn long chapters of the 
Bible by heart, as well as to read it every syl- 
lable through aloud, hard words and all, from 
Genesis to the Apocalypse, about once a year; 
and to that discipline, patient, accurate, and 
absolute, I owe not only a knowledge of the 
book, which I find occasionally serviceable, but 
much of my general power of taking pains and 
the best part of my taste in literature." I trust 
no daily reading will be ended until you have 
turned for a final draught to this fountain of 
purity, this well-spring of life. 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN AFRICA 147 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN 
DARKEST AFRICA 

A VINDICATION OF PRAYER 

Call upon me in the day of trouble. I will deliver thee 
and thou shalt glorify me. — Ps. 50: 15. 

WE are fallen upon times when many affect 
to disbelieve in the power of prayer, and 
the immanence of God in the affairs of men. 
They assert that all things — 

" Swing their cycles as they must, 
Tho' the ample road they travel, blind the eyes with 
human dust." 

God may have created us, but he now leaves us 
to get on alone as best we can, until caught by 
the iron wheel of circumstances and ground into 
the dust, or carried in its sharp teeth, without 
remedy, to our fate. This deistic philosophy 
boldly cries, "What is the Almighty that we 
should serve Him, and what profit shall we have 
if we pray unto Him?" But for answer the 
preacher still cries from thousands of pulpits, 
in the presence of the great congregation, 
"Come, let us worship and bow down, let us 



148 my mother's bible 

kneel before the Lord our Maker." He be- 
lieves not only in a power which makes for 
righteousness, but in a personal God whom he 
addresses as Our Father. To every trembling 
child he cries in words of inspiration, "Like 
as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord 
pitieth them that fear Him." You may tell me 
God does not answer prayer, and it will do no 
harm, for I have seen the coming of his mes- 
sengers times without number; but do not whis- 
per your falsehood in that chamber where the 
white hands fold in prayer, and the mists from 
a far shore drop on a whiter brow. O man of 
the world, you will be silent there! The flip- 
pant doubt which may be spoken on a summer 
sea is dumb in the flood of great waters. When 
a man is trying to rise out of his degradation, 
when the sins of a lifetime are grappling with 
him, when passion and appetite have forged 
fetters upon every limb, will you tell him he is 
a slave forever without hope or remedy ? Thank 
God, I can argue you out of sight from the lips 
of millions of witnesses whose chains were 
broken, not by themselves, but by a pierced 
hand, in answer to their penitent cry. 

The whole question must be settled, not on 
theory, but on evidence. Does God answer 
prayer? Who can answer that? Evidently the 
men who have prayed most will know most 



HOW STANLEY POUND GOD IN AFRICA 149 

about it. It would be a sin against common 
sense to ask that question of a man who never 
prayed. What, then, is the answer which pray- 
ing men give? There is an old Book which I 
was taught to reverence which has recorded the 
testimony of many men now gone. It is even 
so bold as to assert that a man shut up the cis- 
terns of the skies and carried the keys for three 
long years ; that through prayer three hundred 
men routed untold thousands ; that it closed the 
mouths of lions; restored the dead; quenched 
the violence of the fire ; made sick men well and 
weak men strong. If you say this is not true, 
the burden of proof must rest with you, and 
you must disprove either the genuineness of the 
record or the credibility of the witnesses. Dur- 
ing the eighteen hundred years which have 
passed since the ink was dry upon the last page 
of this revelation, the testimony has accumu- 
lated every year. From cottage and palace, 
from university and hovel, from city and coun- 
try, from young and old, from north and south, 
one volume of concurrent testimony comes down 
to us. I wish to bring you to-night, with some- 
thing of detail, one of these testimonies of most 
recent date. We are often told that those who 
believe in prayer are not men of affairs, who 
weigh things with exactness and caution, but 
men and women with whom sentiment and rev- 



150 my mother's bible 

erence play an important part. We are sure 
this will not be charged against our witness 
to-night. He is the most intrepid discoverer 
of this or any other age. A man who adminis- 
tered successfully, without cabinet or general, 
the affairs of a state four times as large as the 
German Empire. Who stands without a peer 
in the newspaper world as a keen observer of 
men and events. He is not a coward, or a man 
likely to be troubled by distempered misgiv- 
ings of evils and dangers which are unreal. 
This is the man who was summoned by Mr. 
Bennett from Madrid to Paris in a night, and 
commissioned, without suggestion of method or 
limit of expense, to find a man whom nearly all 
the world believed to be dead in the heart of 
Central Africa. It is the man who had begun 
a most remunerative lecture tour, but on the 
fifteenth day received a cablegram, " Offer ac- 
cepted; authorities approve; funds provided; 
business urgent ; come promptly. Reply. Mac- 
kinnon." For the sake of a man imprisoned on 
one side by the same power which had mur- 
dered Gordon Pasha, and on the other by 
millions of hostile cannibals and impassable 
jungles, he counsels not with his fears, but 
answers on Tuesday, " Monday's cablegram re- 
ceived. Everything all right. Sail at eight 
Wednesday morning." It was a man who had 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN AFRICA 151 

been accustomed to care for himself from his 
youth up. He was born in poverty in Denbigh, 
North Wales, in 1841, and toiled in the work- 
house of St. Asaph until fifteen years of age. 
John Rowlands was his name. Into the great 
world he went alone. Coming to New Orleans 
in a cotton-ship, he met the kindly man, 
Stanley, whose assistant he became and whose 
name he took. A little while he served in the 
Confederate Army, and later, escaping to Eng- 
land, he came back and enlisted in the Navy of 
the North, and in four months was secretary to 
the admiral. With Hancock in his expedi- 
tion; with the British troops in Abyssinia; in 
the revolution in Spain ; up the Nile ; at Jeru- 
salem; at Stamboul; across the old battle- 
grounds of the Crimea; in the Caucasus; at 
Teheran; across to India, and down to Zan- 
zibar. Such in brief was the record of his 
journey when he entered the Dark Continent. 

A man of affairs and not of sentiment. A 
man of overmastering will, undaunted in dan- 
ger, and for many years accomplishing before 
the world what other men had declared impos- 
sible. It is such a man as this coming back 
from what we thought was his grave ; travelling 
six thousand miles in the jungle on an expedi- 
tion of humanity, whose word is unimpeached — 
this man brings his testimony to-night. I 



152 



quote the words of Mr. Stanley from his prefa- 
tory letter to Sir William Mackinnon, chairman 
of the committee which sent out the Emin 
Pasha Relief Expedition commanded by Mr. 
Stanley. Now that we know the man we are 
prepared to weigh his words: — "You, who 
throughout your long and varied life have stead- 
fastly believed in the Christian's God, and 
before men have professed your devout thank- 
fulness for many mercies vouchsafed to you, 
will better understand than many others the 
feelings which animate me when I find myself 
back in civilization, uninjured in life or health, 
after passing through so many stormy and dis- 
tressful periods. Constrained at the darkest 
hour to humbly confess that without God's help 
I was helpless, I vowed a vow in the forest sol- 
itudes that I would confess His aid before men. 
Silence, as of death, was round about me ; it was 
midnight; I was weakened by illness, pros- 
trated by fatigue, and wan with anxiety for my 
white and black companions, whose fate was a 
mystery. In this physical and mental distress 
I besought God to give me back my people. 
Nine hours later we were exulting with a rap- 
turous joy. In full view of all was the crimson 
flag with the crescent, and beneath its waving 
folds was the long-lost rear column. 

" Again we had emerged into the open coun- 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN AFRICA 153 

try, out of the forest, after such experiences as, 
in the collective annals of African travels, there 
is no parallel. . . . The night before I had been 
reading the exhortation of Moses to Joshua, and 
whether it was the effect of those brave words, 
or whether it was a voice, I know not, but it 
appeared to me as though I heard, 'Be strong, 
and of good courage ; fear not, nor be afraid of 
them, for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth 
go with thee, he will not fail thee nor forsake 
thee.' When on the next day Mazamboni com- 
manded his people to attack and exterminate us, 
there was not a coward in our camp; whereas, 
the evening before, we exclaimed in bitterness, 
on seeing four of our men fly before one native, 
4 And these are the wretches with whom we must 
reach the Pasha. ' . . . 

"As I mentally review the many grim epi- 
sodes, and reflect on the marvellously narrow 
escapes from utter destruction to which we have 
been subjected during our various journeys to 
and fro through that immense and gloomy ex- 
tent of primeval woods, I feel utterly unable to 
attribute our salvation to any other cause than 
to a gracious Providence, who, for some purpose 
of His own, preserved us. All the armies and 
armaments of Europe could not have lent us any 
aid in the dire extremity in which we found 
ourselves in that camp between the Dui and 



154 my mother's bible 

Ihuru; an army of explorers could not have 
traced our course to the scene of the last strug- 
gle had we fallen ; for deep, deep as utter obliv- 
ion had we been surely buried under the humus 
of the trackless wilds. 

" It is in this humble and grateful spirit that 
I commence this record of the progress of the 
expedition, from its inception by you to the date 
when, at our feet, the Indian Ocean burst into 
view, pure and blue as heaven, when we might 
justly exclaim, 'It is ended! ' " 

All honor to the man who, when he was in 
peace and plenty, the jungle behind him, star- 
vation camp with its score of skeletons a wit- 
ness only to the dark forest and the roaring 
waters of the Ituri ; all honor to the man who 
gave honor unto the God who heard him in the 
day of his trouble and delivered him. It has 
not always been thus in the history of men. 
Many have cried to God in their extremity who 
forgot to glorify him in the day of plenty. 
Many a vow has been made when the shadow of 
death seemed about to fall, only to be forgotten 
when that shadow had passed by. I am per- 
suaded that few hear me to-night whose lips 
have not trembled with the same prayer in the 
time of danger, of adversity, or of sorrow. God 
heard your vow, and it may be many friends put 
up their petitions with you. What have you 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN AFRICA 155 

done? Shall it ever be said you forgot your 
obligation and refused to keep your solemn 
vow? Will you declare it like Stanley to the 
world ? He is not afraid or ashamed to confess 
the power of this old Book. As a preface to the 
detailed account to which I have alluded he 
says: "Before turning in for the night I re- 
sumed my reading of the Bible as usual. I had 
already read the Book through from beginning 
to end once, and was now at Deuteronomy for 
the second reading." It was here he found 
the words, "Be strong and of good courage." 
Again he sat famished with his trusty compan- 
ions about him. They ask if he had ever known 
anything so terrible. He answers, "No, I have 
seen some hard times, but nothing like this. 
The age of miracles is passed, it is said, but 
why should they be? Moses drew water from 
the rock at Horeb for the thirsty Israelites. Of 
water we have enough and to spare. Elijah 
was fed by ravens at the brook Cherith, but 
there is not a raven in all this forest. Christ 
was ministered unto by angels ; I wonder if any 
one will minister unto us ? " Just then there was 
a sound of a large bird whirring through the 
air, and a fat guinea-fowl dropped at their feet. 
Do you wonder that he records, "We enjoyed 
our prize each with his own feelings," and for 
himself says, "The age of miracles is not 
past." 



156 my mother's bible 

You remember Stanley became best known to 
the world through his successful search for 
Livingstone, the great missionary. It is impos- 
sible to say how much his association with that 
noble man of God has had to do with the pro- 
found religious conviction with which he now 
comes back to the world. He gave his testi- 
mony years ago as to what religion had done for 
the missionary himself in these words : " With- 
out religion Livingstone, with his ardent tem- 
perament, his enthusiastic nature, his high 
spirit and courage, might have been an uncom- 
panionable man and a hard master. Religion 
has tamed all these characteristics; nay, if he 
was ever possessed of them, they have been 
thoroughly eradicated. Whatever was crude or 
wilful, religion has refined, and it has made him, 
to speak the sober truth, the most agreeable of 
companions and indulgent of masters." Here- 
cords how, on the night after he found the long- 
lost Livingstone, they "sat in the gathering 
darkness and listened, with our hearts full of 
gratitude to the Great Giver of good and Dis- 
penser of all happiness, to the sonorous thunder 
of the surf of the Tanganyika and to the chorus 
which the night insects sang." 

I am not aware that Stanley went to Africa 
as a Christian, but I am sure he stands to-day 
among the most devout believers in the Provi- 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN AFKICA 157 

dence of God and in the efficacy of Christian 
prayer. Our Day is responsible for the fol- 
lowing : — 

" In the depths of the Congo forest and face 
to face with deadly perils, his soul reached a 
loftiness of stature that ga,ve him a distinct vis- 
ion of many truths that are out of sight of 
materialistic and agnostic sceptics, and of all 
men in frivolous moods. While writing his 
book at Cairo he one day used, in private con- 
versation with his London publisher, Mr. 
Marston, these memorable words: — 

" 4 I am not what is called superstitious. I 
believe in God, the Creator of the universe. . . . 
Many forms of belief and curious ideas respect- 
ing the great mystery of our being and creation 
have been suggested to me during my life and 
its wanderings; but after weighing each, and 
attempting to understand what must be un- 
searchable, my greatest comfort has been in 
peacefully resting firm in the faith of my sires. 
For all the human glory that surrounds the 
memory of Darwin and his wise compeers 
throughout advanced Europe, I would not abate 
a jot or tittle of my belief in the Supreme God 
and that Divine man called His Son.'" 

He from whom he may have turned in the 
great cities of the world ; whose presence he had 
not sought when the wealthy and the titled were 



158 MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 

about him ; to spread whose dominion had been 
less important than to secure an earthly king- 
dom, — this tender sovereign and bountiful bene- 
factor is found at last by the wanderer in the 
darkest jungle of the darkest continent. Strange 
that it should be so — that only after the table 
is swept we remember Him who spreads the 
board! Strange that disaster must lead us to 
Him who crowns us with honor. On the shores 
of that far inland lake he finds the man he 
seeks, and leads him forth from impending 
death at the hands of fickle soldiers and the 
fanatics of the Mahdi who are not far away. 
His search was then successful, but all uncon- 
sciously to himself he was making a greater 
quest. I have given you to-night the evidence 
of his success. With his guides and compass 
he found a path for Emin Pasha to the sea ; but 
to every troubled, needy spirit he shows the way 
to the Path-Maker. Strange enough the pasha 
hesitated until it nearly cost him his all. And 
stranger still, many a man goes round and round 
in the jungle, where the ghosts of wasted oppor- 
tunities meet him at every turn, and the dark 
hosts of his sins mock and threaten on every 
side. Over it all I hear a tender voice, "I am 
the way." "Call upon me in the day of trou- 
ble : I will deliver thee and thou shalt glorify 
me." God has honored the man who honored 



HOW STANLEY FOUND GOD IN AFRICA 159 

him. To-night he sits surrounded by all the 
comforts which love and wealth and honor can 
lay at his feet. The gray locks which crown 
his temples at forty-nine are silent witnesses of 
the great distresses through which he has been 
safely brought. From enemies fiercer than the 
Manuema, from husks more worthless than 
finessa or fungi, from darkness blacker than the 
awful forest around the roaring Ituri, the same 
God has led us forth. And now it remains to 
be seen whether we will play the part of honest 
men, and pay the vows we promised of old. 
The answer is with us. 

After our hero has told the story of his quest, 
and paid his tender tribute to the brave men who 
ventured all with him, he prints on the last page 
of his " In Darkest Africa," these humble words: 
"The thanks be to God for ever and ever. 
Amen." 

For all good let us say, as the hand of the 
recording angel shall be poised over the last 
page of our earthly record, "Not unto us, but 
unto him who has loved us and washed us with 
his own blood, be glory for ever. Amen." 



160 my mother's bible 



WHISPERS FROM WHITEFIELD'S 
TOMB 

"PATRIOTISM grows warm upon the plains 
-*- of Marathon, and piety is enkindled amid 
the ruins of Iona." 

Some little time ago I stood on the deck of 
the steamer sailing down the Potomac. On 
that quiet morning, with no sound to break the 
stillness save the tolling of the steamer's bell, I 
looked for the first time upon the white columns 
of Mt. Vernon. I passed up the path trodden 
by the feet of pilgrims from every land, and 
stood with bowed head in the presence of his 
dust who was the greatest citizen of America. 
I saw the sword which in his hand cut asunder 
the chains that bound us to a foreign power. I 
beheld the evidences of the world's homage and 
the gratitude of a great nation. And my heart 
throbbed with reverence for him and with pride 
for the great nation he had helped to found. It 
was to me a Marathon. 

Last week I found Iona. I stooped and en- 
tered a narrow lowly vault. The air seemed 
rilled with voices. The walls were lifted into 



WHISPERS FROM WHITEFIELD's TOMB 161 

measureless expanse. I saw as in a dream such 
thronging multitudes as I had never seen before. 
Whether they were men or angels I could hardly 
tell. I saw one standing in their midst whose 
face I could not see, but whose voice was like 
the trump of God pressed by an angel's lips. 
But the scene changed. My eyes grew used to 
the darkness which the faint glow of the taper 
hardly dispelled. My guide raised slowly a 
coffin-lid. I gazed with awe at the disclosure. 
Napoleon stood reverently at the tomb of Fred- 
erick the Great. The Prince of Wales took off 
his hat at the grave of Washington. States- 
men of every land stand uncovered before the 
sepulchre of our greatest commander. But that 
oaken coffin held one who had wielded a sharper 
sword than either. Their trophies were carved 
out of dead men's bones, but his were souls 
redeemed. They had slain their thousands ; he, 
through Christ, had saved his tens of thou- 
sands. Their victories were measured by the 
brief span of human life ; his were for the end- 
less years of God. A man's heart must have 
turned to ashes if it is not kindled to a flame 
by such thoughts and at such a shrine. 

From out the caverns of those eyes once 
flashed celestial fire. Beneath that awful 
glance the proud were humbled, the drunkard 
sobered, the blasphemer silenced, the penitent 



162 my mother's bible 

encouraged. There were the lips never matched 
on earth. Their thunders had cowed the angry 
mob, and aroused the thoughtless; and their 
pathos had melted the hardest hearts. There 
had pulsed the tender heart whose mighty 
throbbings of love shook its frail casement into 
ruin all too soon. Adown those bony cheeks 
floods of hot tears had run for the sins of those 
who never wept for themselves. That right arm 
with its strange story of vicissitudes, nerveless 
and discolored now, under the spell of a match- 
less voice and will, has seemed to fill the air 
with the horsemen and chariots of God, and left 
the gates of heaven to myriads of seeking 
souls. 

"And this was Whitefield; this the dust now blending 
With kindred dust that wrapped his soul of fire 
Which, from the mantle freed, is still ascending 
Through regions of far glory, holier, higher." 

I wish to voice to you to-night thoughts 
which come to me like whispers from that hal- 
lowed dust. To give them full force I must 
remind you briefly of the story of Whitefield's 
life. He first saw the light Dec. 27, 1714. He 
had not the help of high parentage, for he was 
an innkeeper's son. But the charmers of men, 
from Nazareth to the Golden Gate, have been 
cradled among the poor. Virgil's father was a 
potter; Demosthenes' father, a smith; Johnson's, 



WHISPERS FROM WHITEFIELD's TOMB 163 

a bricklayer; Shakspeare's, a wool-trader; Lu- 
ther's, a miner; Burns's, a peasant. White- 
field joined the Wesleys in Oxford, in 1729, to 
form the Holy Club. At first he was morbid in 
his spiritual earnestness; he wore patched 
clothes, and ate coarse food; praying under the 
trees, far into the winter nights, till the sweat 
ran down his face. But at last he escaped 
from his asceticism and laid hold on God by 
simple faith. In this he was the leader of the 
Holy Club. 

Ordained at twenty-two, he immediately 
began preaching with powerful effect. In 1735 
he came to Georgia to help the Wesleys in their 
care for the religious wants of the colonists. 
He established there an asylum for orphans, and 
went to England to raise money for it. He 
found the churches closed against him, and was 
thus led to become the first field preacher. 

He separated from the Wesleys on account of 
Calvinistic views, but personally they were 
friends until his death. He asked that John 
and Charles Wesley might be buried with him 
under the pulpit of his Tottenham Chapel. He 
gave them a ring in his will, and requested John 
Wesley to preach his funeral sermon. During 
his eventful life he made seven visits to Amer- 
ica, and preached in all the thirteen colonies. 

No man ever equalled him in sacred elo- 



164 my mother's bible 

quence. Said John Newton: "If you ask me 
who is the second preacher in the world, I do 
not know ; but if you ask who is the first, there 
can be but one answer." 

He had many distinguished friends and ad- 
mirers; but his enemies were as vehement as his 
friends, as many and as great. Harvard College 
issued its testimony against him, but later sent 
him a vote of thanks for books given to the col- 
lege. His connection with Boston is of special 
interest. Down these very streets he rode with 
the Governor, one hundred and fifty years ago 
next October; and when Boston was only a vil- 
lage, preached to thirty thousand people on the 
Common. No man ever addressed such an audi- 
ence there before or since. Many hundreds were 
converted. "I am sorry to see you in Boston," 
said a D.D. who disliked him. "So is the 
devil," was his characteristic reply. In 1760 
four hundred buildings were burned in Boston, 
and Whitefield raised three thousand dollars in 
London and divided it between the plundered 
Protestants of Brandenburg and our distressed 
fathers. A Boston shipbuilder said: "Under 
my pastor I can build a ship from stem to stern 
during every sermon, but under Whitefield I 
could not lay a single plank." 

But it is 1770. Whitefield passes through 
Boston for the last time. Aug. 31 he preaches 



WHISPERS FROM WHITEFIELD's TOMB 165 

on Roxbury Plain ; a few days later he leaves 
Boston forever. 

In Exeter he preaches his last sermon. " You 
are more fit to go to bed than to preach." — 
"True, sir. Lord Jesus, I am weary in thy 
work, but not of it. If I have not yet finished 
my course, let me go and speak for thee once 
more in the field, seal thy truth, and come 
home to die." It was granted. For two hours 
he swayed the thousands, and then went to 
Newburyport to die. 

I stood in reverent silence before that humble 
house where the good man met his fate. Yon- 
der on the staircase he paused with his candle 
in his hand to address the large company that 
thronged the hall and door, gazing up at him 
like Elishas on the prophet for whom the char- 
iots of God were waiting. He spoke until the 
candle in his hand burned to the socket and 
went out. The night was a night of agony, but 
just as the sun was rising over the waters of the 
bay the chariot halted and took the weary 
prophet home. It was Sabbath morning, and 
his tired spirit had entered the land of ever- 
lasting rest. 

Such in brief was the journey those mortal 
feet had run to bring him hither. Such were 
the facts which gave power to the whispered 
word that seemed to float through that dim and 
silent vault. 



166 



1. As a preacher I listened for a message from 
the greatest preacher the world ever saw. And 
I did not listen in vain. The greatest father of 
the Apostolic Church sent a dying message to 
his son in the gospel. It was the same message 
which came to me with burning eloquence as I 
bent over the coffin of the prince of preachers. 
The fitful shadows crossing the face of the liv- 
ing and falling upon three time-stained coffins 
gave tremendous emphasis to the solemn warn- 
ing: "I charge thee before God and the Lord 
Jesus Christ, who shall judge the quick and the 
dead at his appearing, and his kingdom, Preach 
the Word!'' There is a disposition to preach 
everything else, but our commission is to preach 
the Word only. 

Here was his answer to every new speculation 
of our modern Athens: "You must be born 
again." When asked by a bishop, "Where 
were you born ? " he answered, " The first time 
in Gloucester; the second time in Oxford." — 
" What! How is it that you were born twice ? " 
— " ' Art thou a master in Israel and knowest 
not these things ? ' " said the preacher. 

The Boston of 1770 turned out thirty thou- 
sand strong to hear of the new birth, and wept 
as one man under the spell of the truth. The 
Boston of 1890 needs the same truth. "You 
talk of works," said the preacher in his last 



WHISPERS FROM WHITEFIELD's TOMB 167 

sermon ; " I would as soon think of climbing to 
the moon on a rope of sand! " You wonder why 
his sermons read so tamely. I answer, he 
preached a doctrine almost unheard of in his 
time, but he preached it so well that since that 
day it has been so universally acknowledged as 
to be commonplace. Whitefield never believed 
that grapes were gathered from thistles, or that 
a man "became a saint in his sleep." He be- 
lieved in evolution, but the evolution of Christ 
and of Paul — the evolution of the new man 
from the new birth. "We were convinced that 
he believed the message he brought to be of the 
last importance," said Dr. Parsons in his ser- 
mon on the day of his death. 

2. I have another message which relates, not 
to doctrine, but to daily practice. On the mar- 
ble cenotaph above his dust these words are 
carved: "As a soldier of the cross, humble, 
devout, ardent, he put on the whole armor of 
God, preferring the honor of Christ to his own 
interest, repose, reputation, or life. In thirty- 
four years he crossed the Atlantic thirteen times 
and preached eighteen thousand sermons." And 
we talk of bearing burdens for Christ when we 
give up an hour of selfish ease even to worship 
in the house of God! For his seal he had a 
lambent flame, and under it the motto, "Let 
us seek heaven." 



168 MY mother's bible 

In Cowper's words : — 

"He loved the world that hated him; the tear 
That dropped upon his Bible was sincere. 
Assailed by scandal and the tongue of strife, 
His only answer was a blameless life." 

3. But, again, with what eloquence came the 
exhortation: "What thou doest do quickly!'' 
Is this the dust which kings once honored ? Ah, 
yes, and they too are common dust. This nar- 
row house is all that now remains for him whom 
palaces received. I speak his name; he does 
not answer. I sound his praises; they fall 
unheeded on his ear; nor praise nor blame can 
reach him now. Only thirty years to work — 
how short! It is not long, and we shall make 
our bed with thee. Is this the end — ruin and 
a narrow cell? I catch a murmured answer, No! 
There is no gleam here in that dull socket, — 

" But that eye shall be forever bright 
When stars and sun are sunk in night." 

The tongue of fire is still, but 

" This silent tongue shall plead for thee 
When time unveils Eternity." 

Ended here is thy pilgrimage, — 

" But these feet with angel wings shall vie, 
And tread the palace of the sky." 

So blends this mortal into immortality! In 
his last sermon he said, in prophetic words: 



WHISPERS FROM WHITEFIELD's TOMB 169 

" I go to my everlasting rest. My sun has risen, 
shone, and is setting; nay, it is about to rise 
and shine forever. I have not lived in vain, 
and though I could live to preach Christ a thou- 
sand years, I die to be with him, which is far 
better." Not only has God opened to him a 
blessed immortality above, but here in this silent 
place he rests a signal fulfilment of the Sav- 
iour's words, "He that would lose his life shall 
save it." In his time he was accused, like 
Wesley, of every crime. As Dr. Squintum he 
was caricatured by Foote, the actor, from one 
end of Great Britain to the other, — even after 
he was in his grave. He was called the clerical 
pickpocket and accused of appropriating his 
great collections to himself. But in the clear 
light of the truth, all that long ago disap- 
peared, and only lives in history to fasten oblo- 
quy upon those who made the charge. After a 
hundred and ten years his devotion shines as 
brightly as his eloquence. My heart was 
strangely stirred as I thought of the great and 
noble who had looked into this sepulchre. The 
bells in all the town were rung, and the ships 
in the harbor showed signals of mourning when 
they brought him here to rest. And for all 
these years the procession has not ceased. Jesse 
Lee stood here a hundred years ago, and wept 
like a child. To this shrine have come princes 



170 MY mother's bible 

and presidents, senators and diplomats, while 
preachers from every land have entered it as a 
holy of holies. Can it be otherwise, when to 
every listening ear there is forever haunting the 
place these whispers of faith, duty, and immor- 
tality? This is a practical age, not over-much 
given to sentiment. It asks, " What have you 
done ? " and not, " Who was your grandfather? " 
But don't forget that the present was born out 
of the past. 

I heard the bells tolling yesterday from almost 
every tower and steeple. I saw a score of new 
flags waving. What did it mean? If America 
is better than Africa, it is because it has had its 
Washington and those who inherited his spirit. 
What the church would have been without 
Whitefield no man can tell; but we breathe a 
freer air and walk closer with God because of 
his life. The train to-day thunders across the 
land at fifty miles an hour, but somebody laid 
the foundation of bridge and bank in dust, and 
toil, and sweat. Let us thank God for their 
work; but let us not forget to run, along 
the lines thus cast up, the car of Christian 
progress. 

But the coffin-lid is closed. The key turns 
in the iron door. I step from the past into the 
white light of the present. I trust we may all 
of us be better fitted for the present by the hour 



171 



we have spent with the past. I go to my duties 
saying, "Whitefield is not dead." 

" When by the good man's grave I muse alone 
Methinks an angel sits upon the stone, 
Like those of old on that thrice-hallowed night, 
Who sat and watched in raiment heavenly bright, 
And, with a voice inspiring joy, not fear, 
Say, pointing upward, that he is not here ; 
That he is risen!" 



OUR PATRIOTS 



ADDRESS 

DELIVERED BEFORE 

THE TOWN OF BROOKFIELD, MASS. 

AT THE 

DEDICATION OF THE SOLDIERS' MONUMENT 
July 4, 1890 



OUR PATRIOTS. 

VETERANS of the Gkand Akmy: La- 
dies and Gentlemen, — We are met 
upon this anniversary of our Independence to 
unveil, with appropriate ceremony, a monu- 
ment which shall speak to our own and coming 
time of the price which brave men paid for our 
national preservation. It is fitting that we 
should thus celebrate at this time a devotion 
sublime and most effective, without which our 
nation would have lost its unity, and this day 
would have had no significance. 

Some years ago it was my privilege to pay my 
tribute in this presence to the high daring and 
patriotism of the men of '76 and their lineal 
descendants, both in blood and in spirit, the 
boys of '61. It is with special pleasure that I 
come now to behold the evidence of the zeal of 
the living representatives of the Grand Army 
who fought so nobly, and the generosity of the 
town, in this chaste and beautiful memorial. 
The citizens of Brookfield, in honoring their 
heroes, have honored themselves. 

The day of the unveiling of this monument 
175 



176 my mother's bible 

is well chosen. The lapse of a hundred years 
and more of national life, though it hardly 
brings us to our full manhood, has served to set 
a soberer beating to our pulses on this anniver- 
sary. We would not curb the exuberance of 
youth; but to those who weigh causes and 
effects, a quiet hour like this may be quite as 
helpful in the development of noble sentiment 
as the booming of cannon and the martial 
music of some great parade. It is well for us 
to remember that we are solving a question in 
which all the world is interested. America is 
the bright star of liberty which weary watchers 
on other shores have seen still glowing in the 
night when other stars had gone out. 

The shot fired at Concord and heard around 
the world is reverberating yet. It is not two 
months since I held the hand of George Kennan, 
and heard from his lips a thrilling story from the 
land of the Tsar and Exile. The incident oc- 
curred at St. Petersburg, in the House of Deten- 
tion, where political prisoners are held for the 
little time before they are sent to exile and 
death in the awful mines of the Trans-Baikal. 

Fourteen years ago to-day we were to cele- 
brate the Centennial of our National Inde- 
pendence. All the political prisoners in St. 
Petersburg said it was Freedom's day, and not 
ours alone, and they claimed the right to share 



OUR PATRIOTS 177 

it. As early as June they began the collection 
of refuse garments of white and blue and red. 
Masters of all expedients, by swinging cords and 
iron pipes, they distributed this strange mate- 
rial among the solitary cells. With the scanty 
means which had eluded search they purchased, 
through friends, a few tallow candles, which 
they cut into small pieces and distributed among 
themselves. They took these colored cloths, 
preparing and arranging them as best they 
could, and made a banner of stars and stripes 
for every solitary cell. With stray threads 
and strings, or shreds from their poor garments, 
they patiently wrought on, — working in with 
every stitch a prayer for Russian liberty, — 
until the day drew near whose anniversary we 
hold. 

You remember the great preparations made 
at Philadelphia, — millions were invested in 
fireworks and banners, — and all the circum- 
stance of the greatest parade our nation had 
ever seen. Impatient hands rested on every 
bell-rope, waiting, like the old ringer in Inde- 
pendence Hall, for the call to ring. But hear 
me when I tell you that the first shout of cele- 
bration on that day did not come from Ameri- 
can lips nor rise from American soil. Long 
before the ruddy light of that morning had 
reached our shores it had touched with gold the 



178 MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 

roofs and spires of St. Petersburg; and as the 
first flush of day broke on that far city of 
the north, the prisoners were astir; from every 
little barred window in that Russian prison a 
rude imitation of the stars and stripes was seen 
to float, and a hoarse cry of hope and cheer 
rose from those solitary cells — the first faint 
note of the world's symphony that day. The 
emissaries of the Tsar soon tore down the flags ; 
but here and there, through the day, one which 
had eluded the search of sharp officials was 
thrown to the breeze. When the sun went 
down and the stars shone out in that colder air 
of the north, in those same grated windows the 
poor fragments of the candles were set. At a 
preconcerted signal each candle was lighted, 
and a faint flicker, emblem of their frail hope, 
went up from four hundred cells. 

Beside our great display this seems too insig- 
nificant to notice, but measured by the spirit 
which kindled the feeble light no gleam of 
starry splendor or boom of bursting rocket can 
compare with that faint light glowing for liberty 
in the far dungeons of the north. My eyes were 
filled with tears as I listened to the pathetic 
story. I said, we have liberty; God help us to 
prize it! 

Let the bronze soldier stand forever on our 
shores; let every hillside and valley be crowned 



OUR PATRIOTS 179 

with a solemn pledge that Liberty, wounded in 
other lands, shall have a home in ours ; that 
never here shall be heard the clank of chains 
forged by political or religious prejudice; that 
this shall be forever, as we fondly boast it is 
to-day, — 

" The land of the free and the home of the hrave." 

We are fortunate, not only in the day, but 
also in the place where we meet. I do not refer 
to this beautiful hall, nor the quiet meadow 
yonder, where brave men fought and bled two 
hundred years ago, and over which our bronze 
soldier shall keep guard, please God, until the 
trump of doom. I refer to the noble Common- 
wealth, under whose protection we gather. Be- 
fore I speak of matters more closely related to 
our hearts and homes, I wish to pay a tribute to 
the old Bay State, whose reputation the men 
whose names are carved here bore unsullied on 
many a battle-field. 

These were all sons of Massachusetts, and in 
honoring her I am only giving honor well 
deserved to a great army of which they formed 
a part. Glorious Massachusetts ! The State of 
Concord and Lexington and Bunker Hill; the 
home of Warren and Adams and Franklin; of 
Webster and Wilson and Sumner; of Garrison 
and Phillips! I wish I might have spent the 



180 my mother's bible 

hour in telling th£ thrilling story of Massachu- 
setts in the war. Our great war governor gave 
but a feeble testimony to the valor of our sol- 
diers when he said, " On the ocean, on the rivers, 
on the land, on the heights, where they thun- 
dered- down from the clouds of Lookout Moun- 
tain the defiance of the skies, they have graven 
with their swords a record imperishable." No 
State was so hated at the South, and with good 
cause, for nowhere had freedom such a strong 
ally nor slavery so implacable an enemy. 

There were men in Massachusetts who felt the 
darkness was too heavy to be borne, and they 
prayed the God of nations to grant us light; 
and when it shot athwart the sky it is no dis- 
paragement to others that they were among the 
first to hail its coming and to proclaim to the 
world that the great bell of time had struck 
another hour. The blood of Massachusetts men 
was the first shed in the Revolution, and Mas- 
sachusetts was also the first to seal her faith 
with her blood on Southern soil a generation 
ago. By a strange coincidence she opened, on 
the 19th of April, the sacrifice for principle 
both at Concord and at Baltimore. Her listening 
ear first heard the bombardment of Sumter, and 
in less than a hundred hours the " Old Sixth " 
had rallied its men from a territory forty miles 
square, had taken hasty leave of home and 



OUR PATRIOTS 181 

friends, and, marching through seven States, 
six hundred miles in distance, had forced its 
way through 'a hostile city of two hundred thou- 
sand inhabitants, and had said to the tall, tired 
man at the White House, " Here we are ! " And 
all this before the enemy had time to muster a 
regiment or cross the Potomac. That march 
from Boston to Washington was a bugle-blast 
that stirred the North as she had never been 
stirred before. The call of the President for 
troops was issued April 15, and the news was 
sent out from Boston that night. At eight 
o'clock the next morning the troops from Mar- 
blehead poured out of the Eastern Depot in 
Boston. Amid the shouts of the excited popu- 
lace and the shrill notes of " Yankee Doodle " 
they marched to Faneuil Hall. It is morning 
of the 18th in New York City; the sun has 
but just risen. Last night men had stopped 
each other on the sidewalk and talked warmly 
and made strong expressions of loyalty to the 
government, but nothing more. As the sun 
rides up the sky a strange sound is heard in 
that city. It is like the voice of many waters, 
and above it all the sound of fife and drum. It 
is the marching of the 6th Massachusetts down 
Broadway! On they come, and from a thousand 
throats, under the gleaming bayonets, rises a 
song in time with their measured tramp, — 



182 my mother's bible 

" John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, 
But his soul is marching on." 

Every window on Broadway was filled with 
eager faces; every inch of space on steps and 
sidewalk was occupied. The ladies waved their 
silken scarfs and handkerchiefs, strong men 
shouted themselves hoarse, and then wept like 
children ; while from every heart a prayer arose 
for the brave men who had rallied for the Land 
of the Free ; and a benediction fell from every 
lip upon the noble State which sent them to the 
field. The enthusiasm they aroused beggars all 
description. Those who had witnessed the 
great demonstrations of that city for half a cen- 
tury said that nothing like it had ever been 
seen. The tread of the 6th had shaken our 
greatest city to its depths. At Philadelphia 
the scene was repeated; and even the quiet 
Quakers threw their arms around our soldiers' 
necks, and emptied their pockets for their 
benefit. 

Before another day had passed four of our 
brave boys were lying dead in the streets of 
Baltimore, and thirty-six were wounded, — 
struck down by an angry mob. But our boys 
did not falter; as they bore their banners from 
our State, we said : " Bring them back proudly 
floating, or be brought back infolded by them; " 
and they answered: "If we prove recreant to 



OUR PATRIOTS 183 

our trust may the God of battles prove our 
enemy in the hour of our utmost need ! " " Wash- 
ington was their goal, and the streets of Balti- 
more the way to it." Tread them they would, 
though every brick had been a bayonet! Ere 
night closed they had reached their destination, 
and were quartered in the very chamber where 
Sumner's blood had soaked the floor. It was 
our answer to the Southron's blow. To that 
hall came Abraham Lincoln, and grasping the 
Colonel's hand, said, "Thank God, you are 
here ! If you had not come we should be in the 
hands of the rebels before morning. Your brave 
boys have saved the Capitol. God bless them! " 
In feudal times, when Highland or Lowland 
would marshal its clans, their swiftest runners 
seized a lighted brand and sounded the call to 
arms throughout the land. Such was the march 
of the 6th, and so fierce the fire they kindled 
that it melted the chains from four millions of 
slaves. 

There were other regiments also who stood by 
the side of the 6th, both in time and in valor, 
— the 3d, 4th, 5th, 7th, and 8th. The boys of 
the Old Bay State were the first to enter Balti- 
more, and New Orleans, and Richmond; and 
when once in they never left until the last rebel 
shout was hushed, and Lee had laid his sword 
in the hands of U. S. Grant. 



184 MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 

In the patriotic work of Massachusetts, Brook- 
field played an important part. From her re- 
cords in the adjutant-general's office I find: 
"Voted, April 30, 1861. Every volunteer shall 
receive $1 per day for every day occupied in 
drilling, and every Brookfield member of the 
15th regiment shall receive uniform, army blan- 
kets, and revolver at the expense of the town." 
E. Twitchell, J. S. Montague, and Charles Fales 
were chosen to carry this vote into effect. The 
adjutant-general says: "Brookfield furnished 
two hundred and forty-five men — one for every 
nine of its population, and twenty-one more than 
were asked of it." The whole amount of money 
appropriated and expended by the town on 
account of the war, exclusive of State aid, was 
15,708.12; the amount expended for State aid 
for soldiers' families and repaid by the State 
was 114,166.19. 

Two hundred and forty-five true men marched 
away from this peaceful village to do and dare 
for principles dearer than life itself, and yonder 
is the fearful record of human sacrifice which 
makes the monument we dedicate to-day a sad 
necessity. A list of forty-eight martyred men! 
Think of it ! one in every five, not simply 
wounded, but killed or dying of a mortal wound 
or pestilential fever in the enemy's country! 
Nay, sadder yet, there were nine brave fellows 



OUR PATRIOTS 185 

who were not permitted to die under the clear 
sky in open battle, but were forced to die by 
inches in the stockades of Andersonville, under 
such refinements of cruelty as only the nine- 
teenth century could suggest and heartless 
wretches execute. Well may we call those 
liberties priceless which were purchased at such 
a cost! 

As I name now each brave regiment of this 
martyr band, I indicate a history as proud and 
fateful as that of any Greek Phalanx, Roman 
Legion, Imperial Guard, or English Light Bri- 
gade. 

First in numbers and service, and second to 
none in valor, stands the old 15th. It left the 
State August 8, 1861, and its history is the his- 
tory of the war, from Ball's Bluff to Peters- 
burg. It was at Ball's Bluff the brave Dexter 
fell, — first in our list of martyrs, — and whose 
name your Post has most appropriately honored 
by making it your own. At bloody Antietam 
eight men from Brookfield were left dead upon 
the field. To look upon your tattered flag, and 
to read the immoital names upon it, might well 
inspire a nation to nobly do and dare. May, 
'64, the regiment entered the battle of the 
Wilderness with three hundred officers and men, 
and when the battle was over it had lost one- 
half its numbers in killed and wounded. In all 



186 my mother's bible 

the marches and battles from the Rapidan to 
Petersburg the 15th bore well its part, and that, 
of itself, is sufficient history. June 22 the 
regiment, numbering now but five officers and 
seventy muskets, faced the enemy near the 
Jerusalem plank-road before Petersburg. By 
a sudden rush from the enemies' lines the little 
company were taken prisoners, only one officer 
and five men escaping to tell the story. 

A month later, when all the detachments of 
sick and wounded and those appointed to special 
service had been gathered together, a maimed 
and weary company of one hundred and fifty 
men came back to the throbbing heart of the old 
Commonwealth. Their reception will never be 
forgotten by themselves or by those who saw it. 
The State was there in the presence of its chief 
officers — as well it might be — to do them 
honor. So long as patriots live and we have 
a country to cherish, so long will our children 
listen with burning cheeks and tearful eyes to 
the brave but tragic story of the " Old 15th." 

All I have said of the bravery of this regi- 
ment might be said of the 24th, next in number 
of your sons, and the 25th, which fought with 
them. Roanoke and New-Berne are familiar 
words and part of a proud history. It is a matter 
of history that the 25th paid the highest price 
in blood ever paid by any regiment of the United 



OUR PATRIOTS 187 

States on a single battle-field. It entered the 
battle of Cold Harbor with three hundred and 
two men, and came out with only sixty-seven 
ready for duty. I cannot fail to mention the 
34th, of whom it is enough to say they were 
among the bravest of those who fought "mit 
Sigel." Winchester and Piedmont are graven 
yonder. The battles of that year alone cost the 
34th six hundred and sixty-one men, killed, 
wounded, or missing. In that fearful fight at 
Winchester, when the gray-coats turned, one 
private dashed into their retiring ranks, and held 
eight prisoners, whom he took unaided to the 
rear. At Fisher's Hill the 34th won a victory 
second to none, when you consider the immense 
odds against them in point of numbers, and the 
completeness of the rout. Long may the name 
of Colonel Wells and the 34th be spoken with 
reverence on the hillsides of the North! 

Of those regiments in which Brookfield was 
represented by fewer men, I would gladly speak 
at length. It is only the limit of the hour 
which forces me to pause in the proud record 
on which I love to dwell. Therefore let no 
silence of mine be understood as a hint of 
invidious distinction. This partial list of 
battles fought and brave acts done has seemed 
to me a fitting preface to the dedication of a 
monument to the slain. 



188 MY mother's bible 

It is true that Brookfield has not waited until 
this late hour before raising a memorial to her 
soldier dead. This beautiful hall, with its rolls 
of honor, cypress trimmed, was dedicated to that 
service almost a quarter of a century ago ; but 
these veterans who remain were interested to 
secure a monument more specifically suggestive 
of the soldier and his sacrifice. They have 
placed it in this ample plot of ground, with 
room enough so that no soldier dying here shall 
ever be buried in the Potter's Field. The citi- 
zens of the town, appreciating the devotion of 
these men to their departed comrades, and deeply 
mindful of their obligations, both to the living 
and to the dead, have generously erected this 
monument, for the dedication of which we are 
assembled to-day. It is placed in the spot of 
ground called so beautifully by the Germans 
" God's Acre." 

" God's Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, 
The bread of life, alas! no more their own." 

This hall stands where the busy feet of care 
pass by it every hour; but this later memorial 
is set amid other surroundings, in a place sacred 
to the holiest memories. Men and women will 
look upon it when their hearts are tender and 
when tears bedew their cheeks. In the solemn 



OUR PATRIOTS 189 

hush of that silent place, where the wheels of 
traffic sound not, and the murmur of the factory 
is stilled, the message which seems to fall from 
our soldier's lips will reach attentive ears. 

In erecting this monument you are but voi- 
cing a sentiment as old as the race. The memo- 
rial monuments of a people have always marked 
their civilization and humanity. Recent dis- 
coveries show us the prominence of this thought 
in the best of our earliest civilization. The 
mighty Pyramids in the Lybian desert are simply 
the memorials of great men departed. The names 
of those who fell at Marathon, inscribed upon 
pillars erected on the spot, were legible to more 
than twenty succeeding generations. Every 
Roman Via had its triumphal arch or memorial 
column to tell to coming ages the proud deeds 
of noble men in the brave days of old ; and they 
were wisely set, that every passer-by might be 
inspired to emulate the example of those whose 
virtues were there enshrined. In these memo- 
rials of valor no country is richer than our own. 
Every sacred spot, made such by patriotic devo- 
tion, is crowned with bronze or granite. The 
silent shaft on Bunker Hill, the bronze farmer 
at the Concord Bridge, the majestic statue of 
Faith at Plymouth, looking with trustful face 
down the bay whence our forefathers came, — 
these, and a hundred others, bear me witness. 



190 



In all the public squares of our modern Athens 
we gaze upon the forms of noble men, erected 
as lasting memorials of patriotism and virtue: 
Winthrop, Washington, Adams, Franklin, 
Webster, Everett, Quincy, Lincoln, Sumner, 
— all these are there, that our youth ma}^ gaze 
upon them, and seek by their own lives to per- 
petuate their virtues and influence. Until the 
storms of centuries shall obliterate their names 
and features, and the frosts of ages remand the 
granite back to dust, so long, with greater elo- 
quence than printed page, will they teach the 
generations yet to be those lessons which they 
stamped upon the generations for which they 
toiled and died. 

I am aware of a utilitarian spirit which says 
all this is but sentiment. Let it be so. And 
what is sentiment? It is the sum of our rational 
powers and moral feelings. It is the only thing 
about us worth conserving, and one who has 
lost it is brother to the clod he treads. Every 
noble act that ever gladdened the world was 
born out of some high sentiment. The conquests 
of religion, patriotism, human love, and all 
that flow out of them, are the precious fruit 
which sprang from the soil of holy sentiment. 

We dedicate this monument to the devoted 
men who died for us. I would be glad to tell 
you how each brave man met his fate, but that 



OUR PATRIOTS 191 

I need not do. What I say for one I say for 
all. They hazarded their all in the fortunes 
of war, and paid without repining the price 
which some must pay to set a nation free. Alas ! 
alas! through what gateways of agony Truth 
and Freedom have come this way ! It was the 
thought of this fearful cost which made the Duke 
of Wellington write : " Nothing except a battle 
lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won." 
And yet for those who die in a great cause 
death has lost the sharpness of its sting. 

"Come to the bridal chamber, Death, 

Come to the mother when she feels 
For the first time her firstborn's breath, 

And thou art terrible ; 
But to the Hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be." 

I am impressed with the thought that nearly 
all of these were soldiers from the ranks. There 
is no great name here which towers above the 
rest like some Mont Blanc among the lesser 
Alps, and draws the gaze of all observers to 
itself. They were our boys, comrades with 
many of you upon the village green in days of 
auld lang syne. They ploughed these fields, or 
went daily to their toil in yonder noisy shops. 
They were not charmed to war by flash of sword 



192 my mother's bible 

or epaulet ; no sounding title made parting from 
their kindred easy. From first to last they felt 
the hardships of war where those are the greatest. 
They made the long dusty march on foot and 
unaided ; and when faint and sick had only the 
poor consideration for which a private may hope 
when even officers have no comforts. There 
was no hope that their names would fill a large 
place in the news of the battle, for they were 
only privates, and few would care to know what 
they dared or how they died; and for the most 
of them the simple record of their name and 
death has been the only epitaph to meet the 
public eye. I would not detract from the glory 
of great names ; but let it ever be remembered 
that these were the men whose bravery gained 
the day, though they were never cheered by the 
hope of wearing the laurels their valor had won. 

We dedicate this monument, not to Captain, 
or Colonel, or General: we dedicate it to the 
Soldier. 

It is a personal remembrance. It was not the 
country which stood picket and was shot down 
in the moonlight; it was not the Cause which, 
burning with thirst and stricken down by the 
hot sun, was left by the roadside to die ; it was 
not the Cause which murmured a tender fare- 
well for loved ones when the life-blood was 
ebbing fast ; it was not the Cause which snatched 



OUR PATRIOTS 193 

the silken banner and bore it into the very mouth 
of the enemy's guns, and fell back to die; it 
was not the Cause which was starved in Ander- 
sonville till its spirit took its flight from the old 
stockade ; all that and more was the individual 
experience of these noble sons of Brookfield, 
and I would gladly, here and now, make a 
dedication as individual as their pains and as 
personal as your tears. 

I have spoken thus far of the dead. I shall 
not have given symmetry to my words until I 
speak of living heroes for whom I wave a palm 
to-day. It is not often that one is permitted 
to gaze upon his own memorial; and yet, if I 
rightly understand the spirit of the donors, this 
monument is a memorial, not only of the dead, 
but also of your valor who were spared amid the 
vicissitudes of war to come back to us bringing 
victory in your hands. Let me send, if I may, 
a blush of honest pride to the cheeks that were 
pale with a mighty purpose a generation ago. 

Disguise it as we will, you are slipping away 
from us. The great leaders, where are they? 
Alas, many of them have passed over to the 
ever-increasing ranks of the army they led, now 
tenting along an echoless shore ! It is five years 
since they dipped the old battle-flags for the 
last time before the hero of Appomattox. The 
hand which had so often pointed out the way to 



194 my mother's bible 

victory was feeble then. They saw it rising 
slowly; it fell just as the column passed on. 
It was his last salute. 

Let the recollection of the gratitude of a 
prosperous country, a happy state, and a united 
people give you cheer when that hour shall 
come to you. 

The attitude of our soldier yonder is well 
chosen — parade rest. It was the attitude for 
final inspection. The battle is fought; no lurk- 
ing foe is near. Let the artisan go to his shop: 
if danger threatens you shall hear the bugle-call. 
Till the fields and make them blossom as the 
rose ; no armed band shall take away your in- 
crease. In ancient times the statue of Memnon 
was said to give forth melody, touched by the 
rays of the morning sun. Our statue also is 
vocal. It does not wait for rising or setting 
sun ; but under sunlight and moonlight, as well 
as when the peaceful stars look down, its mes- 
sage is borne to every passer-by, — the blend- 
ing of a psean and a threnody. Hither young 
men may come in days far distant, and, listening 
to its voice, may rise nobly to do and dare on 
some field of battle or debate, whose bounds are 
not yet set. Here maidens may come with 
lovers true, like Huguenots of old, and pledge 
them by this silent witness to be true to country 
and to God. Under its shadow gray-haired 



OUR PATRIOTS 195 

men and mothers will tell to their children the 
brave story for which it stands, and vow them, 
like later Hannibals, to build a nobler future on 
a noble past. For those who fought afar, and 
those who suffered at home, it will be the inspi- 
ration of manifold memories. "Proud memo- 
ries of many fields, sweet memories of valor and 
friendship, grand memories of heroic virtues, 
sublime by grief; exultant memories of the 
great and final victory of a righteous cause; 
thankful memories of a deliverance wrought out 
for human nature itself, unexampled by any 
former achievement of arms." 

Our words will soon be forgotten; but the 
memories of noble deeds here enshrined will be 
cherished, — 

" While the earth bears a plant 
Or the sea rolls a wave." 

The record is secure. These names we cher- 
ish, and those we add each year to the ever- 
lengthening roll, have won their place among 
the saviors of their kind. 

" So take them, heroes of the songful past. 
Open your ranks: let every shining troop 
Its phantom banners droop 
To hail earth's noblest martyrs and her last." 

To the last generation there came the call of 
our country, in its need asking that brave men 
die to free the captive and champion the right. 



196 my mother's bible 

This generation hears another call; it is a call 
to live : to live like men, for truth, for country, 
and for God. 

" And the meekest of saints may find stern work to do, 
In the Day of the Lord at hand." 

As the last words my lips interpret for those 
lips of bronze, let me utter the message spoken 
over the martyred dead by our greatest martyr, 
"The great, gaunt, patient Abraham :" "Here 
let us highly resolve that the dead shall not have 
died in vain; that the nation under God shall 
have a new birth of freedom ; and that the gov- 
ernment of the people, by the people, and for 
the people, shall not perish from the earth." 



TOWARD EVENING 197 



TOWARD EVENING 

Abide with us; for it is toward evening. — Luke xxiv. 29. 

FT is three days since the tragedy on Calvary. 
Two of the Master's disciples, probably Cleo- 
pas and Luke, are on the way to Emmaus, a vil- 
lage near Jerusalem whose precise location is 
yet undetermined. They seem to have reached 
the end of all hope for their Master's kingdom, 
and they are going home. Back to the old life! 
For Cleopas, the carpenter's shop; for Luke, 
the physician, the old round of fevers and acci- 
dents. As they journey they talk of the thing 
that is uppermost in their thought, — the gar- 
den, the judgment hall, the crucifixion, and 
the tomb. Their step is slow, and their faces 
reveal their sorrow. A stranger comes up with 
them and manifests a tender interest in their 
sorrow. To him they open their hearts, and 
he in turn opens their eyes to the prophecies 
which these very scenes fulfil. They realize 
that they are in the presence of a noble spirit, 
and they long to know him better. They have 
reached the end of their journey. It is late. 
There is no twilight in the East, and to travel 



198 MY MOTHER'S BIBLE 

after sundown is inconvenient and dangerous. 
They say to their companion, "Abide with us; 
for it is toward evening." Theirs was a guest 
who never enters unbidden; but, though he 
would have gone farther, he always accepts a 
true welcome. At their humble meal he breaks 
the bread, and, as I trust you do, before he broke 
it, he asked a blessing. In that act their eyes 
are open and the disciples whisper to each 
other, "It is he, it is he! The Master, the 
Master! " and he vanishes. 

The shadows are lengthening, the dew is fall- 
ing, the night winds begin to blow. I wish 
that from a thousand hearts here to-night, as 
Jesus of Nazareth passeth by, there might come 
the prayer, — more appropriate than some of 
you think, — "Abide with us ; for it is toward 
evening." 

I. There are some of you, into whose faces 
I look, who can adopt the words, " It is toward 
evening," for this reason: life's day with you 
is far spent. You don't talk of it much, and 
you try not to think of it often. If any one 
remarks that you are getting along in years, 
you say, "I don't know; I feel as young at 
heart as ever. It's true, I can't walk as far, 
or lift as much, or see as well as I used to, and 
I find my memory isn't quite as good; but then, 
I'm not old." When you were twenty you 



TOWARD EVENING 199 

called men old at fifty, but you have been mov- 
ing the year along so as to keep it still ahead 
of you. 

You must remember it is in the eighties now, 
well on toward the nineties, and you can re- 
member what happened in the twenties and 
thirties. Ah, yes! you carry tell-tale messen- 
gers with you, who will be heard in spite of 
your protest. Some locks bleach in a single 
night, but it was not so with yours. It took 
fifty winters to do that. Many a year Time's 
graver has been busy on your forehead to cut 
those lines so deep. Frosted hair, furrowed 
brow, failing eyes, and that future which has 
in spite of you a lessening tale of hopes, — these 
all declare it is toward evening. 

Most of your fellow-laborers have finished 
work and gone home. If you should get into 
a carriage with me to-night and go to call and 
shake hands with the old friends, I should 
order the carriage, not to Broad, or Greenwich 
Street, or Broadway. We should not find them 
there. They live in a city where callers are 
unknown ; where they never rise to bid another 
welcome; where the marble doors are ever shut; 
where spindles never turn ; where evening lamps 
never gleam ; and where the grass grows in the 
street. They are waiting for you to make up 
the number of the old residents on your street. 
We are all marching that way. 



200 my mother's bible 

" All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee." 

Thus has it always been. One after another, 
your friends have passed on, until you really 
know more over yonder than here. 

" The mossy marbles rest 
On the lips that you have pressed 

In their bloom ; 
And the names that you loved to hear 
Have been carved for many a year 

On the tomb." 

The echo of the chisel, as the sculptor carves 
each well-remembered name, declares to you, 
"It is toward evening." Now, the saddest thing 
that men or angels ever looked upon is a Christ- 
less old age. To go into the swellings of 
Jordan with a vessel that has no Christ on 
board! To lie down in a sepulchre that has a 
door for entrance, but not for exit ! Ah, when 
your heart and flesh begin to fail there is only 
one prayer that befits your lips. It has three 
words ; I am sure you can remember them, — 
"Abide with me." You'll want a staff when 
you go down hill so fast. " When the strong 
men bow themselves, and they that look out 
of the windows are darkened," you'll want some 



TOWARD EVENING 201 

one to smooth the path before you. I recom- 
mend Jesus of Nazareth, of Gethsemane, of 
Calvary, of Joseph's tomb, and of the Resur- 
rection morning. For every lip that trembles 
with age I breathe this prayer, " Abide with us ; 
for it is toward evening." 

II. But, again, I want to hear that prayer 
from some of you who are facing the night of 
trial and sorrow. I don't want you to borrow 
trouble, for that increases your load, but light- 
ens no one's else. Worry kills more than 
work. You will need all your strength to meet 
trial when it comes. But a darkness from 
which you shrink is already upon you. There's 
a hectic flush on the face you love, and you 
know what it means. "It is toward evening." 
How will it seem to go home when the sun- 
light of your life has gone out? when her rosy 
face, whose blushes graced the bridal hour, is 
pale as the lily which lies upon her bier ? when 
the romping step which used to greet you is 
silent? You have them yet, but you can't help 
seeing that the stream of life doesn't flow up 
to the brow and out to the finger-tips as it 
used to. It takes the courage out of your heart, 
the spring out of your step, the joy out of your 
life. It is chill and dark, for it is toward 
evening. 

Or perhaps you haven't told your family 



202 my mother's bible 

what the doctor says about yourself. The sharp 
pain, the exhausting days, the sleepless nights, 
the anguish of body, that makes living a bur- 
den — no one at home knows of it, but you 
know that all these mean it is "toward even- 
ing." What will the wife and the children 
do? 

Or perhaps there's another man here who 
is not paying much attention to what I am say- 
ing, but is trying to figure how to make $10,000 
of assets cover $100,000 of liabilities. Business 
has been so poor, expenses so great ; or perhaps 
some friend has become an enemy, and now 
that you are short in your accounts, proposes 
to ruin you. You have paid all your bills thus 
far, but you can't go on much longer. As 
you sit here, you say, "Well, in six months 
or one month it will all be out. The papers 
will have a black head-line, Bankrupt, and ten 
chances to one, over that a blacker one, " An- 
other man gone wrong." 

It is little that I or any one else can do to 
help you; but that Friend above all others 
comes to-night, and he says to every one who 
is sorrowful or burdened, " Courage, brother : I 
have seen thy trials, I will see thee through. 
"In the world ye shall have tribulation, but 
be of good cheer: I have overcome the world." 

Star of the night, Pilot, of the sea, Physi- 



TOWARD EVENING 203 

cian of the soul, Resurrection of the dead, abide 
with us! Fulfil thy promise, "At eventide it 
shall be light!" 

III. But again I have to utter these words 
as a bugle blast to every careless, thoughtless 
dreamer: Toward evening. The day is far spent, 
— what have you to show for it ? What treasure 
have you gained? What work have you done? 
You are saying it is morning. I answer, No: 
it is toward evening! You are saying, "Many 
days;" but God is saying, "To-night." You 
are saying, " I am prudent and wise ; " but God 
is saying, "Thou fool!" "I am young now. 
I am but in the seedtime; the harvest is far 
away." For you the sowers and the reapers 
may come hand in hand. God fails to put a 
noon into many a life. The mists of evening 
shroud a morning sun, — 

" Leaves have their time to fall, 

And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath! 
And stars to set, — but all, 
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death! " 

Work, for the night is coming. Cast a quick 
eye about you ; find a pearl here and a diamond 
there, that you be not eternal bankrupts when 
the sun goes down. 

" 'Would a man 'scape the rod? ' 
Rabbi Ben Karshook saith, 
1 See that he turn to God 
The day before his death.' 



204 my mother's bible 

" l Ay, could a man inquire 

When it shall come ! ' ' I say ' — 
The Rabbi's eye shoots fire — 
1 Then let him turn to-day.' " 

IV. Out of this text I bring, not only a tonic, 
but also a balm. "It is toward evening." 
Every Christian heart ought to say, Thank 
God! We are getting toward the end of the 
burden and the grief and the parting j getting 
nearer to the golden milestone, nearer to the 
morning land. 

" Nearer the bound of life, where we lay our burdens 
down, 
Nearer leaving the cross, nearer gaining the crown. " 

Prophesy to the weary voyager that it is 
almost time for the anchor-chains to rattle out 
in port. To the careless idler it sounds the 
knell of his poverty, but to the tired but faith- 
ful workman it brings the longed-for rest. 
The twilight is the hour for devotion in all 
nations. 

" When the hours of day are numbered, 
And the voices of the night 
Wake the better soul that slumbered 
To a holy, calm delight." 

There are sweet memories that cluster about 
the twilight hour, — memories of home. I can 
hear the robin, as the shadows fall, singing to 
God his vesper song. I can see the swallows 



TOWARD EVENING 205 

circling to their nests under the eaves. In the 
open door I can see a dear form seated. Her 
eyes are turned to where the gates of the west 
are just closing, and the King of day drives out 
his fiery steeds. Her lips are parted; and lis- 
tening, I hear the trembling lips of age take 
up the song, — 

" I love to steal awhile away 
From every cumbering care, 
And spend the hours of setting day 
In humble, grateful prayer." 

Toward evening! Nobody knows how to 
appreciate that like a man who has swung a 
hammer in a hot shop, or worked on a farm fif- 
teen hours, from sun to sun. How I've wished 
the shadows would hasten toward evening ! 

That is the time when the separations of the 
toilsome day are over; when all the members 
of the family say to each other, Welcome home. 

I remember, after the long day was over, and 
the last shock of corn had been cut and piled 
upon the creaking wagon, how we buried our 
sickles in the load and started home. The 
shadows were thick about us, but we could see 
the lamps gleam out where friends and kindred 
were waiting around full tables for our coming. 
A yellow mist hung over the valleys, tinged 
by the rising moon ; and afar, on the bosom of 
the night, the great mellow-hearted stars of 



206 my mother's bible 

the evening were already aflame. Our steps 
quickened as we neared home; and more than 
once have I heard, as we followed the creaking 
load, the manly voices, which struck up, " Home, 
Sweet Home," or, "In the Sweet By and By," 
answered by tender voices from the open door. 
And now the feet of the oxen strike the floor, 
and the harvest is in! Evening is not far off 
for the saints of God, when the last sheaf gath- 
ered by hands that were torn and bleeding shall 
be carried into the everlasting granaries, and 
the song of the victorious saints shall be an- 
swered by those who stand to welcome them at 
the open gates. Harvest home at last! 

Toivard evening on earth, but morning in 
heaven! It is Jesus who brings the morning. 
He goes down with us in the evening into the 
grave, and the pressure of his pierced foot opens 
it into glory. Star of the evening to the shep- 
herds, but the morning star of heaven ! Do not 
fear the river of death. The bridge has been 
long in building. Do not fear a rude shock 
when you pass on. God gently loosens the 
faded leaf until it drops from the bough at the 
voice of a zephyr. Almost done with the long 
tramp, the smoke of battle, the hurling shot, 
the surgeon's knife. Going home! We can 
sing with a deeper meaning than Emerson ever 
knew, — 



TOWARD EVENING 207 

" Good-by, proud world! I'm going home. 

Thou art not my friend, and I'm not thine; 
Long through thy weary crowds I roam, 

A river-ark on the ocean brine. 
Long I've been tossed like the driven foam; 
But now, proud world, I'm going home." 

Child of sorrow, of aching body, of heavy 
fear, of lonely heart, it is toward evening, but 
Jesus will abide with you. Careless dreamer, 
hear the warning, toward evening ! and beware . 
But for the laborer whose back bends under 
heavy sheaves, write it on the sunset clouds, 
shout it through the falling dew, toward even- 
ing! 

It is coming. I don't know whether you 
will be dark or gray haired, whether evening 
will find you on land or sea ; whether you will 
meet it with loving friends or alone with stran- 
gers; whether it will find you on the wrecked 
train or the foundered ship, but it will come. 
You will want a warm dress for its chill. I 
recommend the robe of Christ's righteousness. 
Take the hand which was pierced for you, and 
he will lead you into the blessed morning, and 
there shall be no night there. 



208 my mother's bible 



CROWNED HEADS 1 

The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the 
way of righteousness. — Proverbs xvi. 31. 

rjTHOSE who preach before the crowned heads 
of Europe are called court-preachers. I see 
before me many whose heads are hoary; and if 
my text be true, I may congratulate myself that 
to-day I am court-preacher. 

The highest of earthly honors is a coronation. 
The value of the crown depends largely, how- 
ever, upon the power which confers it. To 
be a king of some African tribe, or to rule over 
a petty and dependent state, would be of com- 
paratively little honor. Poor Maximilian, made 
Emperor of Mexico, found he had but an empty 
title, and his crown was but a circlet of death, 
when Louis Napoleon withdrew his aid. The 
crowns here before me, rich in mellow, silvery 
light, were not given by notables or populace; 
they were given by him who is King of kings 
and Lord of lords, who makes kings beggars, 
and beggars kings, "who hath put down the 
mighty from their seats and hath exalted them 

1 Preached at Winthrop-street Church, Old People's Day, 
Oct. 25, 1890. 



CROWNED HEADS 209 

of low degree." Therefore are these crowns 
second to none in point of dignity and honor. 

Many of the crowns of earth have been worn 
but a little time. Death ruthlessly bears them 
off, ofttimes by the headsman's hand. So fell 
the crown of Charles I. when he had worn it but 
twenty-four years, and the crowns of James I. 
of Scotland and Henry IV. of France were wet 
with blood. Louis XVI. and his queen, Marie 
Antoinette, wore thorny crowns for a little, only 
to lose them before they were forty years of 
age under the guillotine. Your crowns are not 
thus to be lost. Caught up from the dust of 
the grave on the resurrection morning, and 
changed by the alchemy of heaven, they shall be 
the perpetual evidence of your kingly dignity. 

Rare gems are sought for earthly crowns, and 
the most skilful artists, prodigal of time and 
toil, put them in place. In the English crown 
four hundred and ninety-seven diamonds are 
set, beside that "mountain of light," the famous 
Koh-i-noor. The crown is lined with purple 
velvet, bordered with ermine, and is valued at 
six hundred thousand dollars. That crown was 
two years in making, but it has taken seventy 
years to finish yours. If the toil which has 
entered into it be the measure of its value, I 
shall be believed when I say that yours is of 
infinitely greater worth. It has no purple 



210 my mother's bible 

velvet nor royal ermine, neither ruby nor dia- 
mond. Strange looms have woven its fabric, 
and gems from untravelled seas shed tender halo 
over it. I bow to those who bear upon their 
brows greater beauty than goldsmith or jeweller 
ever wrought, and richer gems than ever glowed 
in the mines of Golconda. Under the hammer 
of affliction your crown has taken shape. 

" God's breath upon the flame did blow, 
And all your heart in anguish shivered 
And trembled at the fiery glow." 

A strange alchemy has fashioned your jewels. 
Sighs have come forth from the breaking heart 
and laid their chastening hands upon them. 
The pearls in that crown are tears struck out 
from a fountain which the sexton's spade has 
opened. Do you see that mother's crown? 
Watch the sunlight play on every silvery hair. 
Isn't it beautiful? Do you know how it came? 
Some wayward boy planted the first gray hairs, 
it may be, and would give all his wealth now 
if he had only been tender then. But that was 
forgiven long ago, and he's her pride and com- 
fort to-day. Toil in the gray dawn, in the hot 
sun, and in the long winter night; little stock- 
ings mended, little hurts healed, fevered heads 
bathed, hot tears dried, tender watching with 
the living and sacred grief for the dead — all 



CROWNED HEADS 211 

these things have wrought that silvery gray. 
Isn't it beautiful now you know how it came? 

Beauty, when seen in face and form, always 
commands our admiration, and it does so be- 
cause it is supposed to be a revelation of the 
inner self. I shall not enter into the philosophy 
of beauty or bring any fine aesthetic distinctions. 
You may believe with Socrates that the Beauti- 
ful is. coincident with the Good, or adopt the 
absolute Beauty of Plato, or the more scientific 
distinctions of the later writings of the German 
and English schools, but in human life the 
exterior receives much of its beauty from with- 
in. Vice leaves its mark. With sharp gravers 
it cuts its story in forms which cannot be mis- 
taken. The miser, the drunkard, the libertine, 
— all these bear their mark, like Cain, upon 
their forehead. Again, the halo of a helpful 
life transfigures a very ordinary face until every 
one says, "How beautiful!" Remember the 
words of Keats : — 

" Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all 
Ye know on earth and all ye need to know." 

Remember also that utility has a large place 
in beauty, and I think you will be persuaded 
that I have not wrongly used the word beauti- 
ful as applied to the gray-haired and wrinkled 
whom I address to-day. Eyes have lost their 
lustre through the briny wash of tears ; cheeks 



212 



that were plump and fair have become wrinkled ; 
the wedding-ring fits but loosely the full- 
veined hand on which it was placed fifty years 
ago; but if I am to be judge of beauty, like 
Paris of old, I shall give the golden apple, not 
to the brightest eye, but to the tenderest; not 
to the brow unmarked by care, but to the one 
where is written the largest record of self- 
denying vigil; not to the hand so soft and 
shapely, but to the one most worn by toil for 
others, and oftenest opened to help the suffer- 
ing poor. 

We love the beauty of the springtime, — the 
bursting bud, the opening flower, the soft green 
tints on tree and field — all this is the beauty 
of promise. But the prophecy is not always 
fulfilled. Sweet blossoms do not always bring 
mellow harvests. Of the seed he bears afield 
the farmer does not always reap a hundred-fold. 
It is the field white to harvest which gladdens 
the farmer's heart and feeds the world. When 
the song of the harvest home is in the air, 
when the creaking wagons are homeward drawn 
and the great barn-doors swing to, the husband- 
man can say, " Blow ye chill winds of winter, 
pile high the snow! our barns are filled and 
plenty crowns the board." 

Ah, yes! golden grain is better than blade 
of green. Don't try to make yourself young. 



CROWNED HEADS 213 

Every line on your face was cut by a graver in 
the hand of God and is a part of life's history. 
Do not erase a single line. Do not sorrow 
when gray hairs appear, and, above all, do not 
dye what God has whitened. Spend no hours 
in lamenting the past and wishing that you 
could live your life over. That would mean 
to give up your successes as well as to escape 
your failures. Oliver Wendell Holmes puts the 
thought beautifully in his poem, " The Old Man 
Dreams." He represents the old man longing 
for his youth. This the angel promises, but 
asks if there is nothing he would like to keep. 
And the old man muses : — 

" Ah! truest soul of womankind! 
Without thee what were life ? 
One bliss I cannot leave behind: 
I'll take — my — precious — wife! 

The angel took a sapphire pen 
And wrote in rainbow dew, 

* The man would be a boy again, 

And be a husband too ! 

' And is there nothing yet unsaid 

Before the change appears ? 
Remember all their gifts have fled 

With these dissolving years.' 

* Why, yes; ' for memory would recall 

My fond paternal joys, 
I could not bear to leave them all: 
' I'll take— my— girl— and— boys ! ' 



214 my mother's bible 

The smiling angel dropp'd his pen — 

'Why, this will never do; 
The man would be a boy again, 

And be a father too! ' " 

Learn wisdom from past mistakes, but do not 
lose heart because of them. Do not live so 
much in the past as to forget that there is both 
a present and a future. 

" The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be 
found in the ways of righteousness." Do not 
forget the condition. Old age of itself is not 
lovely. The saddest thing on earth is old age 
without God and hope. To see an old man the 
slave of his passions after the fires of his youth 
are gone out; to see him shrivel in soul as in 
flesh, is a sight to make men and angels weep. 
But the hoary hair of a righteous man is a 
crown of glory. These are some of the reasons 
why it is so. 

1. It is a sign of wisdom. " Old men for 
counsel " is a maxim which the world has 
adopted, but this is a sign of something more. 
Here is to be found that wisdom which has its 
beginning in the fear of the Lord. It is for 
such as these that the prophecy was written: 
" They that be wise shall shine as the bright- 
ness of the firmament ; and they that turn many 
to righteousness as the stars forever and ever." 
When voices and paths were many they listened 



CROWNED HEADS 215 

to the right voice and chose the right path. 
They chose the real instead of the seeming, the 
gold instead of the tinsel, the eternal instead of 
the temporal; and the years have vindicated 
the wisdom of their choice. 

2. It is a sign of service. They have been 
followers of Him who came not to be ministered 
unto, but to minister. There are old ministers 
among them who preached more gospel and 
routed more wickedness on two hundred dollars 
a year than some of their descendants on four 
thousand dollars. To-day they are poor in 
pocket, but rich in the rewards of blessed ser- 
vice. Some man in his prime meets one such 
and says, "Don't you know me?" and then he 
gives his name, and tells how the old man led 
him to Christ twenty years before. There are 
old class-leaders among them whose prayers and 
counsels the lambs of the flock will always 
remember; mothers whose presence was a com- 
fort in every sick-room, and who nursed both 
body and soul. All this I see reflected from 
these crowns to-day. 

3. It is a sign of purity. How sweet that 
old face looks in its wreath of white hair! 
The fires of passion have never kindled up from 
a wicked heart to scorch and burn. Anger and 
malice have left no marks upon that face. I 
seem to see the words across the peaceful brow, 



216 my mother's bible 

" Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall 
see God." 

4. It is a sign of victory. The battle is 
almost over. The triumphal procession will 
come very soon. You have been victor on too 
many battle-fields to be defeated now. Every 
waving lock is evidence of well-fought battles. 
When I see an aged Christian I feel like 
doffing my hat; for I say, He is to be King 
unto God forever, and he will soon be seated 
on his throne. With the victory cometh the 
everlasting rest, the eternal presence of the 
Saviour, and the blessed rewards of a faithful 
life. Then do not be disheartened. You are 
on the side of life nearest heaven. You have 
the gratitude of those for whom you have 
labored, the approval of a good conscience, and 
the well-done of your Master. Most of your 
friends have already preceded you to the better 
country. Late may you ascend to heaven, but 
when you go may the saints you have known 
give you sweet welcome home! Let me close 
in the words of an unknown poet : — 

" They call it going 'down the hill' when we are growing 

old, 
And speak with mournful accents when our tale is nearly 

told; 
They sigh when talking of the past, the days that used to 

be, 
As if the future were not bright with immortality. 



CROWNED HEADS 217 

Who would exchange for shooting blade the waving, 

golden grain ? 
Or when the corn is fully ripe, would wish it green again ? 
And who would wish the hoary head, found in the way 

of truth, 
To be again encircled with the sunny locks of youth? 

For, though in truth the outward man must perish and 

decay, 
The inward man shall be renewed by grace from day to 

day; 
Those, who are planted by the Lord, unshaken in their 

root, 
Shall in their old age flourish and bring forth their choicest 
fruit. 

It is not years that make men old; the spirit may be 

young, 
Though fully three score years and ten the wheels of life 

have run; 
God has Himself recorded, in his blessed Word of Truth, 
That they who wait upon the Lord shall e'en renew 

their youth. 

And when the eyes now dim shall open to behold the 

King, 
And ears now dull with age shall hear the harps of 

heaven ring — 

And on the head now hoary shall be placed the crown of 

gold, 
Then shall be known the lasting joy of never growing 

old." 



218 MY mother's bible 



GATES OF PEARL 

And the twelve gates were twelve pearls. — Rev. xxi. 21. 

IV /[~Y text is from that part of God's word 
-*-*-*- called the Revelation. As preliminary 
to the thoughts which will later engage our 
attention, I wish to answer, so far as I can do 
it in a brief statement, the questions: Is a 
revelation from God concerning his will neces- 
sary? is it reasonable? is it possible? has it 
been made? 

To know the present, man has his senses ; to 
know the past, he has the voice of the aged and 
the pages of history; but none of these can cast 
the horoscope of the future. That rests behind 
a thick veil, which may not be parted unless 
some superhuman hand shall draw it aside. If 
there be a God who has created us, and who is 
likewise our father, it is reasonable to suppose 
that he would communicate to us his plans and 
purposes concerning us. Natural religion, so- 
called, tells us nothing of repentance, of prayer, 
of spiritual duties, or of future destiny. It 
therefore becomes necessary that all this and 
more should come in some specially appointed 



GATES OF PEARL 219 

way. That such a revelation would be pos- 
sible, having postulated God, we conclude with- 
out argument from the nature of things. We 
communicate our thoughts to others; shall God 
do less ? Nay, have I not witnesses this morn- 
ing whose listening ears have heard sweet mes- 
sages from that eminence where God's tall 
angels walk in light? You ask me, then, has 
such a revelation of the future been made? 
The Bible is your answer. No other book ever 
claimed to be such a revelation. This does. 
If this be not true, God has not spoken. But 
it bears its own evidence on its pages of light. 
In six successive pictures God set before Moses 
the dawning world. He wrote as he saw, and 
the deepest science of to-day dares not dispute, 
on fair interpretation, a single verse of the first 
chapter of Genesis. By the confession of the 
prophets themselves, it was God who spoke, 
from the triumphs and threnodies of Isaiah to 
the reproving voice of Malachi; and what was 
then in the unknown future, under the hand 
of God with its fast-flying shuttle, has been 
wrought into the garment of history, which the 
world must forever wear upon its shoulders. 
And it was wrought as they set the pattern-card 
— no thread misplaced, no color changed. 

Let us journey on a little until we pass three 
crosses and an empty grave. It is not far to 



220 my mother's bible 

a rocky island in the sea, and there, under the 
inspiration of that central cross, and in the 
light of that resurrection morning which made 
empty Joseph's tomb, a vision kindles upon the 
sight of the man of God. "I was in the spirit 
on the Lord's day." I affirm that the condi- 
tions are right for beholding the city which is 
afar off. The Seer is in the spirit, and it is 
well, for these things are spiritually discerned. 
The lenses which science grinds are poor media 
through which to see the King in his beauty. 
A new system of optics was announced in the 
Sermon on the Mount. Blessed are the pure 
in heart for they shall see God. 

The day is well chosen; it is the Lord's day. 
It is the anniversary of his resurrection and 
ascension who said, "I go to prepare a place 
for you." It is the anniversary of the day 
when a new power entered the hearts of men, 
when thousands were pricked to the heart under 
the advent of the Spirit which is to lead into all 
truth. If any man can interpret the things of 
God it is a man who is in the spirit, and if 
there is any time when the spiritual atmosphere 
is clear it must be on the Lord's day. The 
place, also, is well chosen; for if there be a 
heaven, a lonely island paced by a saint exiled 
for conscience' sake must lie under its very 
battlements, and we shall see that earth has no 



GATES OF PEARL 221 

Patmos which angels cannot find and their 
footfalls make it the vestibule of heaven. 

" What thou, seest write." The coming of a 
vision was thus announced. John saw it and 
wrote. In the hour of death, when the mists 
float up from the chill river, hiding loved faces, 
and when, if ever, visions of another country 
kindle the soul of the dying, I have never heard 
a testimony that assailed the vision of the 
exiled John. I believe in the revelator's dream. 
" But you would make heaven material." Only 
so far as Jesus made it so. "Do you believe 
in golden streets and jasper walls ? " Concern- 
ing these we shall have no serious disagreement. 
If there is anything better for streets than gold, 
I shall expect to find it there. I confess it is 
a comfort to think, as some one has said, that 
the thing men prize most here, and for which 
they sacrifice happiness, honor, and life itself, 
will there be under our feet. Any materialism 
which may seem to trouble here is due only to 
the limitation of the apostle's language and 
expression, and to our limited understanding. 
The Bible most emphatically opposes any and 
all theories which seek to make heaven a simple 
state of heart. Such theories deny the plainest 
statements of our Lord concerning heaven as a 
place of holy joys and blessed reunion, where 
the experiences of life shall be recalled, and 



222 MY MOTHER'S 1UBLE 

earthly friendships, made pure and heavenly, 
shall be perpetuated forever. We affirm our 
belief in the resurrection, but the resurrected 
body would be strangely out of place if there 
be nothing for the hereafter but the flitting of 
the spirits of the just in endless procession of 
cloud. When Christ ascended he took with 
him the body which was pierced, and he left 
only his grave-clothes and an empty tomb. 
How far this is a type of our resurrection we 
may not know. It is written, "It is sown a 
natural body, it is raised a spiritual bodj~;" 
but we may still believe that in some important 
sense the words are true, " Yet in my flesh shall 
I see God." 

Let us look at the city as John describes it. 
The men of the East were wont to say long ago, 
"See Jerusalem and die." Richard the Lion- 
hearted counted it joy enough to look upon her 
battlements from the top of Scopus ; and when 
the crusaders saw for the first time the holy 
city, they covered their faces with their shields 
and wept. When Mohammed reined in his 
horse on the hills above Damascus, and looked 
upon that "Pearl of the East" strung for silver 
threads upon Abana and Pharpar, he turned to 
his followers and said, " Look not upon it. To 
see paradise is given to men but once. Let us 
seek ours above." 



GATES OF PEARL 223 

Still men climb the Hill of Moab to see 
the sun rise on the desolated city of the Great 
King. Still from Hermon and Lebanon their 
eyes kindle upon Damascus; but the city of 
which I speak no eyes untouched of God have 
ever seen. Her merchandise is not sold in our 
streets, her ships do not anchor at our wharves. 
For that reason some deny her existence. I 
have never seen Damascus or Jerusalem, but 
I have parted with many friends who journeyed 
thither. So, though I have welcomed none 
back from the heavenly Jerusalem, I have 
watched many sail for that port, — stately ves- 
sels loaded to the water's edge with golden 
grain, tiny shallops full of laughter and of 
flowers, how I have seen them sail away ! 

" And I think they sailed for the heavenly port, 
For they came not back to me — ah me ! " 

"And when at last in heaven's port 
At anchor safe I ride, 
Some I shall see so dear to me 
Who went out with the tide." 

Of that city God is the architect. Earthly 
cities are built by many architects, and their 
plans are at variance one with the other. That 
city shall be harmonious in all its structure. 
Standing in St. Paul's Cathedral in London 
you will see a plain marble with the name of 



224 my mother's bible 

the architect of that cathedral, Sir Christopher 
Wren, cut upon it, and underneath, the sen- 
tence, "Do you seek my monument? Look 
around you. " It is a monument to be proud of, 
and were he with us now we could safely trust 
him to build another. Standing in the shadow 
of St. Peter's in Rome, we are awed by the 
immensity of that dome, the grandest ever 
arched by human genius. With this evidence 
of his power before us we might well trust 
Michael Angelo to build for us a palace or a 
temple. I have seen what God can do in the 
making of a mountain ; I stand on the shore and 
tremble at the surging of his seas ; I lift my 
telescope and behold in yonder star a world 
of such extent as to make our little earth 
unworthy of notice. Of this world and its 
innumerable fellows he is the architect and 
maker. Yet all these are only in the outer 
grounds of his palace. The measureless azure 
is but the pasture where he drives the worlds 
for flocks. We may be sure when he builds a 
city where his throne shall be established and 
the royal family shall live, it will surpass in 
glory all other creations. This is the city 
before whose gates we stand. 

"The twelve gates were twelve pearls." 
Notice how manifold are the entrances. Surely, 
there is little comfort in this for those who 



GATES OF PEARL 225 

expect the world to reach heaven only through 
their polity or creed. Each church shall have 
its gate, but let it remember there are eleven 
others. Our Baptist friends prefer to go in 
at the river-gate. It shall be theirs, but our 
Congregational friends shall have a gate as 
well. It may be that some poor worshipper of 
the Virgin shall yet see Jesus only; there shall 
be a gate for her. Some follower of Gautama, 
the light of Asia, may at last find Him who is 
the light of the world. There shall be an 
entrance for him. A gate for every true wor- 
shipper, whether in the church of Luther, Knox, 
Kingsley, Chalmers, Starr King, or Bellows. 
If I have left anybody out, they are welcome 
to come in at the twelfth, the Methodist gate. 
But once inside no one will ever ask at which 
gate you came in. It has been well said that 
the twelve gates mean universality. " On the 
north three gates." That means that every 
Esquimau in his icy hut shall have a chance. 
"On the south three gates." That means a 
risen Christ for every dusky -faced child of the 
tropics. "On the east three gates." That 
means salvation for India and China and Japan. 
"On the west three gates." That means the 
culture and the wealth of this world are to be 
brought to Christ. 

The twelve gates were twelve pearls; each 



226 my mother's bible 

gate a pearl. Julius Caesar paid six hundred 
and twenty-five thousand dollars for a single 
pearl. Cleopatra's famous pearl was worth four 
hundred thousand dollars. A single gem is of 
such value, but think of the massive gates, each 
one a pearl! The significance of the pearl is 
purity, but here it has a deeper meaning. Every 
pearl is formed over a wound. I do not know 
from what shores these come ; but I fancy they 
are the tears wrung from breaking hearts amid 
manifold sorrows, changed by the strange al- 
chemy of heaven into the gates of pearl. 
"Blessed are they that are homesick, for they 
shall come at length to their father's house." 
Your hurts and sorrows will be to most of you 
the gate of heaven. They will shut us out from 
eternal sorrow, and shut us in to everlasting 
joy. One step this side, we are beggars; one 
step the other side, and we are kings. Here I 
find sickness, sorrow, poverty, and death. It 
will soon be over. No selling out of poor folks 
there, no aching head, no hidden sorrow, no 
ruined hopes; there malice plies no daggers, 
sharp tongues do not hurt, love does not mourn; 
no graveyards for broken hearts, no conquests 
for sin. Oh, city of rest, city of freedom, city 
of foundation, city of love, city of God! swing 
thy gates for us ! 

In the "Anabasis" 1 is a passage of simple 

1 Xenophon's Anabasis, Book IV. chap, vii-, sec. 24. 



GATES OF PEARL 227 

beaut} r , where Xenophon, after describing the 
treacheries from which the Greeks have suffered, 
their hard marches, harder fare, and all their 
sorrows, tells us how, when they came, on their 
return, in sight of the blue ^Egean, they em- 
braced each other and wept like children, and 
cried to those toiling up the mountain, "The 
sea! the sea! " To them the sea meant the end 
of their journey and the sweet delights of home 
and friends. With like rejoicing may we all 
come, with our trials and sorrow behind us, to 
the welcome of our everlasting home, and as 
we hail the glad sight which ends our weary 
pilgrimage, exclaim with holy rapture and 
gratitude unspeakable, The gates, the gates! 

" Jerusalem the golden, I toil on day by day. 
Heart-sore each night with longing 

I stretch my hands and pray 
That 'mid thy leaves of healing 

My soul may find her rest, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling 

And the weary are at rest." 

May I remind you of the inhabitants who are 
now within these gates ? All the holy you have 
ever known are there. Every saintly life which 
blessed the world, comforting the afflicted, bind- 
ing up breaking hearts, making roses to blossom 
in every desert life, is still lived on beyond 
these portals. Do you love little children, and 
would you like to be with them forever ? Then 



228 my mother's bible 

seek the city of the saved, for, thanks to the 
mercy of the infinite Christ, there is not a little 
child in all the regions of the lost. A few 
months ago I sat in our largest auditorium and 
looked into the bright, happy faces of seven 
thousand school children. It was a sight never 
to be forgotten. No mark of sin was on those 
faces. I could see on every side only the purity 
of innocence. Tears gathered in my eyes as 
I thought of that multitude which no man can 
number, and my heart throbbed with a great 
purpose to enter the many -gated city and dwell 
forever with the pure and innocent of all ages. 
But there are others whose names tremble upon 
my lips. They have but lately left us, and our 
hearts are burdened sore. The daisies now 
blossom over their graves for the first time. 
Our tears drop warm upon the turf, but it 
heaves no answering sigh. If we only knew 
the glories within the gates, and could talk 
together as of old! 

" One year among the angels, beloved thou hast been, 
One year has heaven's white portals shut back the sound 

of sin; 
And yet no voice, no whisper, comes floating down from 

thee, 
To tell us what glad wonder a year of heaven may be." 

But we shall know some day, for our home 
also is within the gates. We try to make this 
home. We buy land and build houses. We set 



GATES OF PEARL 229 

many chairs around our tables. The old folks 
smile upon us in their quiet way, and the 
laughter of children fills our ears. But it 
changes so soon ! Our guests are scattered far 
and wide. We go home; but the old folks are 
not there to greet us, and we look for them in 
vain. The laughter of childhood is hushed, for 
the little ones lie white and still. Ah! this 
can be home no longer. 

" Can I call that home where I anchor yet, 

Though my good man has sailed ? 
Can I call that home where my nest was set 

Now all its hope hath failed ? 
Nay, but the port where my sailor went, 

And the land where my nestlings be, 
There is the home where my thoughts are sent, — 

The only home for me, — ah me!" 

It was mother who made home here, and now 
that she has passed within the gates it is still 
true that where mother is is home. Have 
courage, ye sad-hearted and fearful! It is not 
far to the golden milestone. Soon we shall 
greet our waiting kindred, and within the gates 
we shall forever dwell with them at home. 
But ere we enter the gates, the angel warden 
will ask of us the password. The same one 
will answer at any gate, and there is none other 
name given. Let me speak it tenderly now, 
and do not forget it, for it is the last word I 
shall speak — it is Jesus. 



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